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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25221781">Butterbrew: Beans of Love</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Perrygrace9/pseuds/Perrygrace9'>Perrygrace9</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops &amp; Cafés, Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Barista Draco Malfoy, Businessman Harry, Cars, Coffee Shops, Cute Draco Malfoy, Drama, F/M, Famous Harry, Fluff, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, I think?, Light Angst, M/M, Minor Character Death, Past Abuse, Protective Harry Potter, Romance, Slow Burn</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 12:40:39</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>26,832</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25221781</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Perrygrace9/pseuds/Perrygrace9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"I felt weak and alone against an enemy that was too big for me to fight. I was terrified...and then I met you."</p><p>Harry Potter, the Heir and CEO of the most coveted business empire, The Peverells, has everything one could dream of: power, money, status, and youth. Or so he believed until he met Draco Black, a nervous Barista with a soft smile and a kind heart, who makes Harry trip over his words and doubt his every move. But what seems like a simple leisure time romance, soon turns into something deeper. But Draco's sad eyes are guarding a damning secret, one which would force Harry to choose between his heart and his duty.</p><p>Running away from the demons of his past, Draco is trying to build a new life for himself. But it turns into a whirlwind of tender love, safety, lies and betrayals when he falls madly in love with a billionaire...a victim of a secret that Draco has buried forever. How will Draco protect the one person who is so intent on sacrificing everything for him?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>72</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>263</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Prolouge</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I noticed a serious lack of coffee shop AU fics in the Drarry Fandom, so I wrote one to break my writer's block. Hope you like it!</p><p>HAPPY READING!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>Lucius Malfoy was not a good man.</p><p>He has been a lawyer in the merciless corporate world for too long to have any sympathies or tender spots. He came down on people like an assassin—swift, cold, and ruthless, and had no qualms about throwing anyone under the bus. Especially when the people he threw were vicious monsters themselves. Hungry Wolfs, thirsty for blood and ready to tear each other apart like gladiators fighting for gold in an arena of ancient Rome.</p><p>The only difference was that the fights here had no end, they went on and on. Eliminate one opponent and you have ten more coming your way.</p><p>So in the end, it’s not a fight where you win or lose...</p><p>It’s a race.</p><p>A race where you fight to stay the longest.</p><p>But every sport has its players. Players who have survived longer than others. Companies that have endured the unpredictable disaster that was the market for years without toppling over.</p><p>It was these players that Lucius Malfoy worked for. He patched their wounds, gave them ammunition and, sometimes, he even poisoned their rivals to the grave.  Well...not literally, but figuratively, considering that these players were at his mercy when it came to controlling their damages, to strengthening their contracts, weakening their opponents and crushing their enemies.</p><p>In corporate law, there was no right or wrong, no good or evil. There were just sides to take, figures to calculate, and rules were just another part of the game for the lawyers to play with.</p><p>These players did not carve their way through stone with noble gestures and fair fights. It was all about who blindsided, double-crossed, backstabbed, and tripped the others over before others could trip them.</p><p>And once you fall, there was no rising up.</p><p>Or that is what Lucius Malfoy and his most notoriously sinful client, Tom Riddle, had thought...</p><p>Until the Peverells.</p><p>When the Potters died in a car crash 2 decades ago, leaving their 4-year-old son behind, everyone thought it was the end of one of the strongest and most coveted business empire. The young heir orphaned and left behind to be picked on by the vultures as the rest of the world brawled over for the remaining chunks of the Peverell fortune.</p><p>But no one had expected James Potter to be prepared for the worst before his untimely death. No one had expected the toddler, who was considered too weak for this world, to survive the crash, and, most of all, no one had expected that boy to rise up from the flames years later and burn the world in his wake.</p><p>After his parent’s death, the child had been out of the scene before anyone could get their hands on him. The media had gone wild with rumours and speculations about the custody battles that were to determine the heir’s fate. Conspiracy theories about the car crash were pouring in like rain. It was chaos.</p><p>But no one knew what was actually happening. The Peverell’s lawyers fought tooth and nail to hold off the media onslaught from reaching the child. All of the company’s dealings were smoothly transferred to James Potter’s most trusted partner, Frank Longbottom, under whose supervision the company grew consistently, albeit slowly, for the next few years until the rightful heir was ready to take over.</p><p>And take over he did.</p><p>The Peverell’s final and most vulnerable player took the world by a storm.</p><p>A storm named <em>Harry Potter. </em></p><p>And like every other storm, he grew silently, unpredictably, and hit the world with thunders. <em>Strong</em>, <em>unyielding</em> and <em>dangerously</em> <em>beautiful</em>.</p><p>Harry Potter was a force to be reckoned with. He took the reigns of his company and handled the beast like a dragon tamer.</p><p>Lucius was not blind. In the last 3 years since Harry Potter ascended the throne, he had shown the world that he was not to be underestimated or trifled with.</p><p>All of that added to Potter’s philanthropic streak and his clean record was basically a PR bliss for his company and a nightmare for his rivals. He drove everyone crazy, competitors <em>and</em> the general public alike.</p><p>Potter was nicknamed as the Heart Breaker by several famous gossip columns. Potter’s youthful charm and tragic past added a layer or mystic and enigma to him that made him a constant feature in business and fashion magazines.</p><p>If Lucius hadn’t already been working for Riddle, he would have enjoyed working with Potter. Lucius owned the best law firm in the country and, backed by it, Potter would have been practically unbeatable. </p><p>But that was beside the point. Lucius was sure Potter would have been disdainful of his diabolical and unsavoury ways if they had ever joined hands. </p><p>Lucius wondered if Potter’s nobility was one of the reasons why it was so difficult to put him down. After all, Potter had already proven to be an exception to all the rules and observations of the corporate world that Lucius had made in his long and successful career.</p><p>It was all these reasons, and many more (some too appalling to mention), that Lucius was surprised—although he was careful not to show it—when Tom Riddle made an unusual demand. Or request, as Riddle liked to call it, even though <em>coercion</em> under the threat of murder or worse would be how Lucius would describe it if he could.</p><p>“A merger?,” said Lucius, raising a delicate eyebrow, “With the Peverell’s?”</p><p>Tom Riddle was sitting on the sofa across form Lucius, a table between them, one leg crossed over the other as he swirled a glass of a single malt whiskey in his pale hand, his other hand languidly drumming the arm of the sofa, platinum rings that caught the sunlight adorning his skeletal fingers.</p><p>They were in Riddle’s corner office, a cheerless but elegant place, soulless and frigid with sharp, symmetrical decor in detached and unfeeling shades of black, white and grey. Some would call it efficient. Lucius thought it morbid.</p><p>But even Lucius couldn’t deny that Tom Riddle—sitting in his office in his dark three-piece Burberry suit—cut a dangerously intimidating figure. He was sure that Riddle was aware of the effect, and that it was deliberate.</p><p>“To the world, yes,” said Riddle, his eyes trained on the amber liquid swirling in his hand, “a merger is what it should look like.”</p><p>“Potter would never agree to it,” said Lucius matter of factly.  </p><p>“I am counting on his refusal,” replied Riddle, his voice smooth and silky, like water, <em>like</em> a <em>snake</em>. He always reminded Lucius of a snake. Riddle’s lips curled at the corner, “but, of course, I am not planning to give him a choice.”</p><p>Lucius hesitated, “I am afraid I do not understand.”</p><p>Finally, Riddle looked at Lucius. Putting his glass down, he leaned forward and slid a folder across the table. A black leather folder with silver edges, it looked foreboding. Lucius knew Riddle enough to know that it didn’t bode well. He flipped it open.</p><p>Grey eyes scanned the names and the titles on the document, brows furrowing with each word.</p><p>He closed the file, putting it back on the table. Then, leaning forward, he intertwined his fingers between his knees, staring at the closed file with sharp, critical eyes.</p><p>After a long moment of tense silence, Lucius spoke, “Those are Potter’s projects and clients.”</p><p>“Yes,” Riddle smiled, a sinister smile, prompting Lucius to continue.</p><p>Lucius narrowed his eyes, “You are poaching his clients to force Potter’s hand into a merger.”</p><p>“Bingo,” said Riddle. Picking up his glass, he leaned back against the sofa, looking smug. “I am snatching Potter’s clients and projects through a third party. So when his company has losses, Potter would merge to protect his employees, he won’t fire them to compensate.” </p><p>Lucius had to give it to him, his plan might actually work. Despite Potter’s unrelenting image, he was considered to be a bleeding heart, a considerate boss who cared too much about his employees.</p><p>Riddle took a sip of his whiskey. “Once I have the merger underway, I will bring these clients and their support along with me. And before we know it, Potter would be out of the picture.”</p><p>“What about the shareholders?” asked Lucius. “They will not just vote Potter out.”</p><p>“They would have no other option but to side with me to secure their profits,” said Riddle. “I would have their clients remember?”</p><p>Lucius inhaled sharply and sat back. “This is not a merger,” he said quietly, feeling stunned. “It’s a hostile takeover.”</p><p>Riddle tipped his glass in Lucius’ direction.</p><p>Lucius stared. He knew that Riddle was remorseless, but sometimes the degree of his greed and cruelty came as a shock, even to him.</p><p> “Potter is not naïve, he’ll see it coming,” Lucius warned, looking at the file, then back at Riddle.  “He won’t sit back and watch without retaliating.”</p><p>“I know,” said Riddle. “Which is why I want <em>you</em> to ensure that when he comes after us, he has nothing against us. No ammunition what so ever.” Riddle paused, raising a meaningful eyebrow. “After all, my dirt is your dirt, Lucius. And if I go down...” he left the threat hanging in the air.</p><p>Lucius’ hands curled in his lap, but his face remained stoic, betraying nothing. “I will make all the necessary arrangements, “ he said evenly, collecting his papers before putting them in his briefcase. “When would you like me to send the merger proposal to Potter?”</p><p>Riddle’s mouth twisted into a malicious smirk. “As soon as you can. It would make for a nice Halloween present.”</p><p>Lucius pursed his lips and nodded jerkily, shutting his briefcase.</p><p>Riddle downed the rest of his drink and got up, walking to the large glass window. Putting his hands in his pockets, he stared at the London skyline, his chin high with arrogance, a caustic victory in his eyes.</p><p>Lucius got up to leave. Just when he was about to close the door, Riddle called.</p><p>“And Lucius,” he said, looking over his shoulder, a lascivious smile on his face. “Give Draco my regards, would you?”</p><p>Lucius grimaced and shut the door behind him as he left. Only years of training stopped him from slamming the door in Riddle’s face. He didn’t know what kind of a perverted fixation Riddle had with his son. Sometimes he was thankful that Draco has left him. At least that way his son would be safe from all this....<em>evil depravity. </em>That was enough for Lucius.</p><p> </p><p>**</p><p>Harry stopped his car and killed the engine. He was outside Butterbrew—a cafe he rarely visited. It was a bittersweet place for him. Like a drug, painful yet addictive, repulsive yet alluring. But it was where he always found himself rushing to every time he felt like the world was crashing down on him.  </p><p>Dropping his head back, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The grave magnitude of the day’s events hit him with full force, crumbling his resolve.</p><p>His head was pounding. Just a few hours ago, Tom Riddles’ lawyer, Lucius Malfoy, had paid him a visit. An ominous occurrence that left something tight coiled in the pit of Harry's stomach.</p><p>The hours after the man’s departure were a  pandemonium of panicked employees, rumours, board meetings and phones ringing as clients called for reassurance.</p><p>And while Harry had reassured everyone that it was simply a proposal for a friendly merger, he was well aware that it was anything <em>but</em>.</p><p>He could not let others know about it, however, it would send a wave of panic and frenzy that should best be avoided.</p><p>Although, keeping the knowledge of the impending catastrophe to himself made it worse, but he knew that, somehow, he had to handle this alone, without letting anyone else catch a whiff of his own anxiety.</p><p>Not only was his entire life’s work, and his father’s and grandfather’s work was on the line, but the lives of hundreds of employees, workers and clients depended on it.</p><p>A War was coming. And Harry was helpless and lonely in the fight against it. He felt like the world was closing in on him.</p><p>Swallowing hard, he opened his eyes and stared blankly across the street. Through the window of a shop he could see people buying decorations and trying on costumes and props. Someone dressed as a wizard was distributing candies outside a toyshop trying to catch the customers' attention. The street was lit and the shops were adorned with macabre embellishments.</p><p>He looked away and checked the date on the touch screen panel of his car. His chest tightened.</p><p>Halloween was coming...</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. A Lot Can Happen Over A Coffee</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>They meet!<br/>Slow Burn.<br/>Hope you like it.</p><p>HAPPY READING!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Have a nice day,” said Draco, giving the old lady her take away package along with her decaf, capped and ready to go. He eyed the heavy bags she was carrying. "May I lend you a hand, madam?"</p><p>She smiled gratefully as Draco walked around the counter and carried her bags to the taxi that was waiting outside. </p><p>Once she was settled in the car with her belongings, she raised a wrinkled hand out of the window, beckoning him.</p><p>Draco leaned forward and felt a gentle touch on the top of his head.</p><p>"God bless you, child,” she said genially.</p><p>Then, leaving him with a generous tip, she steered away in the car.</p><p>"I see you are already everyone’s favourite,” said Astoria as he went back to his place behind the counter.</p><p>"I hope you are not jealous,” Draco drawled. "I wouldn’t want to hog all your tips."</p><p>Astoria laughed and bumped Draco's shoulder playfully. "Don't worry. If you get too far, I’ll just poison someone’s coffee and frame you for it." </p><p>Draco gasped. "You wouldn't." </p><p>"She will,” Millicent called from behind the coffee machine, glaring at them. “And I will help her if you don't get back to work.”</p><p>Draco couldn't help but smile as he went back to taking orders.</p><p>It was his first day at Butter-Brew, and so far it hasn't been as bad as Draco had feared. Sure, some customers were difficult, and pompous, and entitled, but Draco knew how to deal with them. After all, he couldn’t really judge them, since even he had been a dick-head like that, once. And if they were too much to handle then sweet ladies like Mrs. Weasley made it okay, and generous tips made it bearable. </p><p>And generous tips were rather frequent, as the cafe was located in the posh area of the city, surrounded by towering office buildings, expensive galleries and luxury brands. It was all rather appealing to Draco's taste. And even if he could not afford to shop in this area anymore, just working here made him feel a little better about his situation, a little more comfortable.</p><p>It was his way of staying in touch with all that he has lost. A gentle reminder of everything that was good about his old life.</p><p>The cafe itself had a black exterior, decorated with flowers on either side. The name of the cafe was written in an elegant script on a vintage, wrought iron sign hanging next to the entrance door.  </p><p>The interior of the cafe was in woody shades of browns, creams and blacks. The counter was at the back, in the far end of the cafe (opposite to the door), behind which Draco and his co-baristas—which included a bloke named Terry boot, along with Millicent and Astoria—were scrambling about, preparing orders. The tables which lined the sidewalls of the cafe had comfy sofas in charcoal grey with black and white cushions, while the tables in the central areas had comfortable chairs. There were some bean bags in the corners as well, and bar stools were placed next to the counter and the slab which ran along the glass pane next to the entrance door. Behind the counter was another door that led to the staff lounge, and the floor above the cafe was used as a storage for the inventory.</p><p>Until now Draco has managed to work through all of his orders without any noticeable glitches. It was good for his first day, and he hoped to pass the trial period and finally get the job, which he desperately needed, as he lost his scholarship recently. </p><p>Thinking about his scholarship immediately put a damper to his mood. His life has been a continuous and nauseous downward spiral since he got involved with--</p><p>Draco sighed, he couldn’t even name the bastard in his head—and that kind of trauma should be telling enough as it is.</p><p>Just <em>how</em> stupid Draco had been to stay with <em>him</em> for as long as he did? How blinded in love to just <em>endure</em> all the—</p><p>He brought his hands down on the counter, hitting the breaks to that train of thought and bringing his mind to a screeching halt. He did not want to think about all that. Not now. Not ever, if he could help it. But especially not when it finally seemed like he could get his shit together and survive the disaster that his life has been for the last few months.</p><p>He took a deep, measured breath and swallowed the lump in his throat. Sweat trickled down his temples and his arms were shaking by now.</p><p><em>It’s because of the labour</em>, he told himself, <em>I am just tired, it’s not like I am used to working for such long hours. </em></p><p>Yes, that’s what it was. Draco wasn’t traumatised. He wasn’t helplessly falling off the cliff. He could pull through. He <em>would</em> pull through. And he would tell himself that until he either <em>did</em> pull through or died trying, crashing at the bottom of the said cliff. Because until then...until he has lost all the fight that was still left in him...he won’t stop trying. Giving up on himself was not an option. <em>It just wasn’t</em>. </p><p>He wiped his forehead and drank some water. Thankfully, rush hours were over and no one had noticed Draco’s little meltdown. The café dwindled to a few costumers, falling into a lull as the closing time neared. Soon Terry and Astoria also left, and Milicent went to check the inventory in the storage. </p><p>Just a couple of more hours and then he would get the job. A couple of hours with no disaster. Draco could manage that. Right? </p><p>No. </p><p>It seemed like Draco's life was always playing tricks on him. And the sadistic thing always played nice until the end, spiked Draco’s hopes up, only to betray him and push him down the stairs to shatter right before he could reach his destination.</p><p>Draco was counting down one successful customer after another, anxiously waiting for the day to end so that he could get the job and pass his trial day. But just when he thought that he would finally make it, his doom walked into the cafe. </p><p>Whosoever said that there was beauty in destruction wasn’t lying.</p><p>Because the person that just walked in was, after all, <em>beautiful</em>.</p><p>Dark hair, fashionably messy and loosely gelled at the sides—the man looked classy and just-shagged at the same time. He was wearing a pair of dark grey trousers along with a black shirt and a grey waistcoat, which was hanging open. Dangling from his breast pocket was a pair of Armani glasses (Draco knew because Blaise had flaunted a similar pair a few days ago).</p><p>With his sleeves rolled up, his slim, black tie hanging loosely from around his unbuttoned shirt collar, and his grey suit jacket draped over his forearm, he looked like he had just gotten off from a long day of work.</p><p>Draco was sure that the man had just walked out of his office. A big office, probably, belonging to a  big company, from the looks of it. Maybe even a corner office, thought Draco, the kind which usually belonged to the higher-level employees and had magnificent glass windows looking across the city’s skyline.</p><p>Draco could easily picture the guy sitting behind a sleek desk, surrounded by his diplomas and tastefully organised shelf of mementoes, dark hair shining under the sun that entered through the glass panes.</p><p>If the man didn’t look so young, Draco could have almost mistaken him for a CEO. Because despite the weariness of the day evident on the man’s appearance, there was something very fetching about him, something that demanded attention and respect. It made the brunette very difficult to miss; to the point where Draco couldn’t imagine him in any other role except for that of the leader or the one in charge.</p><p>Draco’s heartbeat picked up when the man walked towards the counter, talking to someone on his cell phone. As he walked closer, Draco noticed the sharp cut of his jawline and his lightly tanned, golden skin.</p><p>But that wasn’t what took Draco’s breath away, it was his <em>eyes</em>...</p><p><em>Dear lord! </em>Those were the most brilliant pair of green eyes Draco had ever seen! They were the colour of <em>Jade</em>. Draco would be lying if he said that he didn’t find the man exceptionally attractive in a powerful, rugged sort of way.  </p><p>The man hung up the phone and looked up. And Draco looked away, blushing when he realised that he had been staring. </p><p>Thankfully, the man didn’t seem to have noticed as he sat down on one of the barstools near the counter and dropped his suit jacket on the seat next to him. Resting his elbows on the slab, he buried his head in his hands.</p><p>Draco waited for a couple of minutes, then cleared his throat.</p><p>"Welcome to Butter-Brew, sir. May I please take your order?” Draco greeted, embarrassed to realise that his voice came out higher than usual, squeakier.</p><p>“The usual, please,” came the muffled reply.</p><p><em>Shit! even his voice is hot, </em>thought Draco. “Um...”</p><p>When Draco didn’t move, the man looked up. "Is Colin not here?" he asked, looking over Draco's shoulder at the back of the counter. </p><p>"No, sir,” Draco replied politely. “He resigned.”</p><p>The man frowned. “Resigned?”</p><p>Draco nodded. “He got an internship with a journalist so he had to leave.”</p><p>“Journalist—?” he began, then his expression cleared. “Ah, yes, the photography internship. Yes, I—” he sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I totally forgot about that.”</p><p>He was quiet, then, as he brought a hand up to rub at his temple, as if willing away a headache. And Draco noticed just how <em>tired</em> he looked. His face was drawn and his shoulders were stiff as if finally surrendering under the heavy burden that was weighing them down.</p><p>The wait made Draco anxious. He could tell that this man was a regular, and Draco did not want to be the one to lose an old customer on his first day. He tried again. </p><p>"Your order...sir?" Draco asked haltingly, hoping he didn't sound rude. </p><p>"I...I don't know, I never order." </p><p>Draco’s brows furrowed. "Pardon?"</p><p>The man exhaled, letting his hand drop. "Colin always prepared my drink. It’s not on the menu, and I never...Well, he never told me what it was and I never asked.” </p><p>“Okay,” Draco said slowly, trying not to panic. “Alright, well, you can tell me what you like and then maybe I can try and whip something up for you?" It came out as a question. Draco was desperate to get this right.</p><p>"Are you sure? I don’t want to bother you, I could just—" the man started picking up his suit jacket.</p><p>"I am sure," Draco said hastily, almost reaching out to hold him back, almost. "There aren't any costumers left and it’s almost closing time. It won't be a bother at all,” he insisted when the man still looked uncertain.</p><p>After a moment of pause—a pause which was filled with anxiety for Draco—finally the man gave in. "Okay,” he said shrugging. “If you say so."</p><p>Draco exhaled, relieved. He pulled out a tiny note pad and looked at him. "So...tell me." </p><p>Green eyes blinked back at Draco. "What?"</p><p>Draco raised an expectant eyebrow, gesturing with his hands, "about this beverage of yours…" </p><p>"Right." The guy shook his head. "Right, okay." </p><p>Draco waited, giving him some time to think. It was an effort not to tap the pen against the pad in impatience. <em>Christ, was Draco nervous!</em></p><p>Finally, thank god, the man spoke. </p><p>"Okay...um...it should be cold, and milky, but not too thick and creamy. And...uh...I like it strong but I don't want it to be bitter? I don't know…" he rubbed the back of his neck. "It's hard to explain." </p><p>Draco cocked his head. "So something like...when you have hot truffle with ice cream? Or dark chocolate with sweet tea. Am I getting it right?" </p><p>"I guess?" </p><p>"Excellent!” Draco grinned. “I'll be right back with your drink." </p><p>Draco settled on making an Ice mocha—it was one of the stronger of the cold beverages—and added a dash of sugar and hazelnut toping to take the edge off the bitterness. He made sure the proportions were right so that the consistency was neither too milky nor too watery. </p><p>The whole time Draco worked, he could feel the guy watching him. He didn’t mind much. He knew he looked good in his Barista uniform. The black shirt and trousers were in sharp contrast with his pale skin and made his light eyes stand out even more prominently, and the brown apron with leather straps softened the edges of his sharp features. </p><p>“There you go,” Draco said, placing the coffee on the counter.</p><p>The guy took it, giving it a sceptical look.</p><p>"Go on, try it,” Draco encouraged. "We can work around it if you want something changed." </p><p>He watched anxiously as the man took a tentative sip, paused, gently smacked his lips to get a taste, then furrowed his brows, making Draco’s heart almost skip a beat. But then the guy took another large swig and his eyes shot up to meet Draco's, his brows smoothening.  </p><p>"So…?” Draco asked hopefully. “Do you like it?"</p><p>The guy stared at Draco, the straw halfway to his mouth—an exceptionally beautiful mouth, Draco’s mind supplied, plum, red, and glittering from the moisture of sweet coffee. His gaze was piercing, green eyes too intense to be allowed to roam around naked like that.</p><p>Then he swallowed and gave Draco a tiny nod. </p><p>Draco's shoulders slumped. <em>God, that was close. </em>He brushed his hair out of his eyes and smiled, relieved.  </p><p>The man's eyes widened and he looked away, pulling out his phone and busying himself with it.</p><p>And that was that.</p><p>Draco wasn't sure if the guy was satisfied with his coffee or not. But he hadn't thrown the coffee on Draco and was drinking it, so maybe Draco would be fine. With that, he ignored his dithering thoughts and moved on to organising the counter and flipping through the register so as to stop himself from looking at the brunet.</p><p>"Are you Colin’s replacement?" </p><p>Draco almost jumped at the question. Breathing steadily, he calmly closed the register and looked up. "I hope so,” he said. "I am still on trial." </p><p>The guy raised an eyebrow, "So Hannah hasn't hired you yet?"</p><p>Hannah Abbot was the manager of the cafe. Her parents owned it and she was learning the business first hand so that she could take over one day. She was just a few years older than Draco. </p><p>"No," Draco replied. "If I pass today, she will hire me permanently." </p><p>The man nodded and dropped his eyes to the cup as if deep in thought and just when Draco assumed the conversation to be over, he spoke again.</p><p>"May I speak to her?" he asked, stiffly, not looking up from his cup. </p><p>Draco's mouth went dry. "If there is something wrong with your coffee then I  can—"</p><p>"No, it's fine," he said, cutting Draco off. "I just want to speak to Hannah. Do you mind calling her?"</p><p>Draco nodded and didn't press it any further, he didn't think it wise. Those eyes were terrifying, too intense for Draco's resolve to handle. He quickly went to the backroom and called Hannah. Minutes later she followed Draco out, and he pointed her to the man. </p><p>Draco watched from afar as Hannah greeted the man warmly, a genuine smile on her face as if meeting an old friend. So Draco was right in assuming that the guy was a regular and, from the looks of it, a special patron. Hannah's demeanour was reverent and attentive as she listened to whatever the man was saying. </p><p>Draco busied himself with cleaning the counter, giving them some space. He tried not to eavesdrop onto their conversation, but it was hard when he noticed, from the corner of his eyes, that the man and Hannah were looking at him now and then. And Hannah was explaining something as the man gestured to his cup.</p><p>Draco’s stomach churned, he was sure that they were talking about him. He must have royally screwed up.</p><p>His throat tightened and he felt like crying from frustration and fatigue, the emotional and physical strain of the day finally catching up to him.</p><p>He had tried to be so good the whole day, worked so hard. It was all going so well until now, the cafe was about to close and he had almost pulled through the day. </p><p><em>It wasn't fair! </em>It wasn't. It really wasn't Draco’s fault that a patron had a special order for himself. No one had warned him about it. And now he had pissed off the man enough to not only lose this job but to also lose this patron for Hannah.</p><p>And he needed this job, he didn’t have the time to go hunting for another one. He still had to pay the rent, his college situation was a disaster and he just....<em>he just needed a</em> <em>break</em>. For once, he wanted things to work out.</p><p>Hannah had been reluctant to take someone with no experience at all, but Millicent and Astoria had vouched for him. Butter-Brew was in an uptown, high-end area of the city and maintaining a reputation was important. But Hannah had still given him a chance. And now he has let her down. </p><p>Draco sniffed, dragging a hand down his face. God, he was so tired he could sleep right there on the counter!</p><p>He walked into the staff lounge. It was a decent-sized room with a couch pushed against the wall and a coffee table in front of it. There was also a small TV across from the couch and a small stand with old magazines and newspapers, the latest ones were on display, outside, for the customers.</p><p>On the wall to his right there were a few lockers where they could put away their belongings, and next to the lockers was a metal stand where they could hang their coats or spare uniforms. The walls were mostly bare except for a couple of food-related paintings and posters.</p><p>On the wall opposite the lockers was another door that led to the restroom. It was clean and simple, like the rest of the staff lounge, and had plain black and white tiles.</p><p>Draco went inside. It won't do to break down in the open. He had already screwed up, no need to lose his dignity by embarrassing himself, too. </p><p>He removed his apron and hung it on a hook behind the door. Then he turned on the tap and splashed water on his face, feeling the cold droplets soothing his frayed nerves.</p><p>He turned off the tap and rested his hands on either side of the sink, the granite feeling hard and cold under his palm as he watched the water swirl before it disappeared down the drain. Feeling hollow, he took a deep breath and slowly looked up. </p><p>The boy looking back at him was not someone Draco recognised. He was pale, paler than Draco remembered, and his eyes were dull, heavy from exhaustion and without the usual shine of glittering silver. His shoulders were too tensed and frail for his liking, and he had lost a lot of weight. But that wasn't an issue, Draco had always been skinny. </p><p>But at least earlier… earlier he had been attractive and healthy. But that was a long time ago—now he just looked sickly and miserable. His mother would be distraught if she saw him like this. And the thought made him feel even worse.</p><p>
  <em>Christ, he was pathetic!</em>
</p><p>His eyes were moist. He blinked rapidly and a few drops rolled down his cheeks while some clung to his eyelashes, blurring his vision. He harshly wiped his eyes with his sleeve. <em>It's just water,</em> he told himself, stubbornly. <em>Not tears, just water. </em></p><p>At last, when he finally managed to gather himself, put on his apron, and step out to take his place behind the counter, Hannah was nowhere to be seen and the stool, where the guy had been sitting, was empty.</p><p> </p><p>**</p><p>The day was over and all the staff had left. Hannah was doing some last-minute checks in preparation for the next day and had told Draco to wait until she was finished so that she could give him the verdict.</p><p>Draco hung his apron and dropped on the couch, feeling like a puddle of goo as he sunk into the soft cushions. He was completely burnt out, exhausted to the bone. And he wasn't sure if he could do this every day to stay alive and earn his keep. </p><p>It was times like these that Draco was almost tempted to run back crying to his parents. But he was beyond that now, that boat has sailed long ago. It would have been easier, though, if he hadn’t lost his scholarship, or if he didn't have to manage work and his studies side by side, too. But he was out of options. </p><p>He exhaled. Maybe he wouldn't have to do it again, he thought, after what happened with the guy in the grey suit, Draco was pretty sure that Hannah would fire him.   </p><p><em>It wasn't like you </em>had<em> the job in the first place, </em>a sadistic voice, that sounded suspiciously like his father, supplied. <em>It wasn't like you had any hopes. </em></p><p>He pinched the bridge of his nose. Then sat up when the door opened and Hannah entered. </p><p>"There you are!" she said cheerfully. Too cheerfully for someone who was about to fire an employee. "My star barista!"</p><p>Draco raised an incredulous eyebrow. </p><p>"Oh, Draco, you are god-given," she went on, not noticing Draco's surprise. "I must thank Tory and Milli for vouching for you, I have been so worried. Rich brats are so very picky about their beverages, I thought it would be weeks before I could find a suitable replacement for Colin. But then you walked in," she gushed. </p><p>Draco was dumbfounded, he wasn’t expecting this, in fact, he had totally prepared himself for the worst. "So I have the job?” he asked tentatively, afraid that she might change her mind “I am not fired?"</p><p>"Fired? Hell, no! Why would I fire you?" </p><p>Draco dropped his eyes to the floor, fiddling with the cuffs of his sleeves. "I mean...I kind of screwed up, didn’t I?" </p><p>She frowned. "Screwed up?" </p><p>Draco nodded, mortified. "You know, with that guy...dark hair...green eyes…" </p><p>Her expression cleared, "Oh, you mean Harry?"</p><p>Draco's stomach flipped. <em>So his name was Harry, huh. </em>It was a nice name, very easy and relaxed, and kind of soft. Too soft, in fact, thought Draco, for someone with a gaze so sharp and piercing, and demeanour so hard and impenetrable. </p><p>Hannah laughed. "No Draco, you didn't screw up at all," she said, shaking her head fondly. “Far from it, in fact, you did a wonderful job."</p><p>"Really?”</p><p>She smiled. "Really. Whatever you gave him, he liked it so much that he actually wanted to make sure that I kept you around.”</p><p>Draco's jaw dropped. He knew he had done a good job today but he hadn't expected <em>that</em>. “But—but he insisted on seeing you! And I thought...”</p><p>“Oh, that?” She tsked, shaking her head. “Poor you, did you think he was mad at you?” Draco nodded sheepishly. “No, silly, he was here to drop a cheque. He donates every year around this time for our Halloween event, says this place is special for him. I don’t know why he does it but I am not complaining.”</p><p>Millicent had told him about the little event Butter-brew hosted every year for orphan kids. Every Halloween night Butter-brew was closed down for business and kids were invited to celebrate. There were gifts, games, candies, refreshments, costumes and photo booth for the children to enjoy, and everything was fully funded by the cafe, or by <em>Harry</em>, apparently. </p><p>“That’s...very generous of him,” said Draco.</p><p>Hannah hummed, biting her lip, “I wasn’t expecting him until tomorrow though. But I really should have warned you, I know Harry can be a little…<em>intimidating.</em>”  </p><p>Draco snorted mentally, <em>a little</em> was an understatement. But Hannah was happy and it looked like Draco would get the job, so he wasn’t complaining either. </p><p>She took him through some minor details—shifts, leaves, paperwork and all—before finally calling it a day. </p><p>"Oh, and this is for you," she said, at last, giving him an envelope.  </p><p>Draco peeked inside and his eyes widened. "I thought you paid bi-weekly!”</p><p>"I do,” she said. “Consider it an advance or a Halloween bonus.”</p><p>"But—but--" Draco's protest died in his throat as his voice softened. "Hannah, you don't have to."</p><p>She waved her hand dismissively. "Keep it, It's yours, others will get it too. As I said, I just got some festive funds. And you <em>will</em> have to take care of all of Harry’s orders from now on, so this is for your future troubles.”</p><p>“Don’t you think its a bit much for taking care of one person?”</p><p>Hannah snorted. “Not one person—an entire office. Even though Harry, himself, rarely ever shows up, his building is just a block away and a considerable sum of our patrons are his employees, not to forget our investments come from him. So it's a huge responsibility.”</p><p>Draco raised an eyebrow. "He is our investor?"</p><p>"Yeap,” said Hannah. “and a good one at that, never fusses. Honestly, sometimes I wish he would create a fuss so that I can make up for his generosity but—" she stopped and shook her head. "Anyway, it's getting late, you should head home." </p><p>Draco lunged forward and hugged Hannah, his pride be damned. "Thank you," he mumbled into her hair. "Thank you so much, Hannah. You have no clue how grateful I am." </p><p>Hannah stumbled back from the force of the hug but wrapped her arms around him nonetheless. "There, there,” she said, patting his back, "don't go all mushy on me or I will reconsider my offer."</p><p>Draco laughed and pulled away, feeling embarrassed but too relieved to care. This bonus was enough to cover the rest of his rent. At least he wouldn’t have to worry about <em>that</em> for the next couple of weeks.</p><p>"And Draco," she said, holding him at arm's length, her expression grave but kind. "I don’t know what your troubles are but they’ll pass, eventually. So hang in there, okay?”</p><p>Draco nodded, unable to speak past the lump in his throat. Too many conflicting emotions were warring to the forefront. But giddiness of pride and gratitude won over.</p><p>Squeezing his shoulders, Hannah dropped her hands. "Now off with you, or I will lock you in. </p><p>Draco quickly gathered his bag and keys and pulled on his coat. Then he waved goodbye to Hannah and left the warmth of the cafe.</p><p>Stepping into the chilly night, he felt the cold air hit his tender cheeks and muse his hair. He didn't use hair-gel anymore, had stopped when things had taken a turn for the worst. It was drizzling lightly, and usually, Draco would have hated it, but not today.</p><p>He inhaled deeply, letting the freezing air fill his lungs with a fresh breath of life. Then he looked up, it was difficult to spot any stars because of the clouds. The sky was dark and desolate.</p><p>But to Draco, for the first time in months, his future didn't look so bleak.  </p><p>Smiling, he wrapped his coat tighter around himself, straightened up his collar, and walked home.</p><p>The fall from the cliff is long, and he hasn’t crashed to the bottom yet...</p><p>Who knows? Maybe one of these days, Draco might just pull through.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Do leave Comments and Reviews!</p><p>How would you feel about me adding an Aesthetic Picture with each chapter? or would that look tacky?<br/>Let me know.</p>
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<a name="section0003"><h2>3. One Last Glimpse of You</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>PLEASE NOTE:<br/>1. This story is NOT going to be a stupid love triangle.<br/>2. This story does Not encourage smoking. Don't do it kids, only fictional characters look good doing it because the best ones die anyway. </p><p>3. I don't know how this fic turned this anxty? I remember planning a fluffy one? But then I wrote this chapter, which was completely unplanned. And then I just shrugged and was like, "okay, i will just adjust the entire story instead of adjusting this chapter." But like, roll with it, i guess? Writers do be crazy like that sometimes. </p><p>ALSO HAPPY READING!</p><p>AND DO LEAVE COMMENTS!</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The sky was dark and desolate outside, with only a couple of hours to spare before the break of dawn. Moonlight entered the room, illuminating the two figures on the bed. </p><p>Harry Potter was lying awake with his arm tucked under his head as he stared up at the ceiling, his other arm wrapped around Ethan McCarthy who was nestled to his side.  </p><p>They had met a few weeks ago when Ethan was hired by Harry's PR agency to model for his company's latest project. Ethan had recently given a blockbuster debut and was predicted to be a rising star soon, and Harry's PR agency thought it best to ride the wave of success with him.</p><p>The meetings that followed to settle the terms of the contract led to dinners, with lots of flirting and lots of wine, before ending up in Ethan's apartment. </p><p>Since then Harry has become a common fixture in Ethan's bed, which was surprising considering how Harry's sexual rendezvous usually lasted only for a night or two, or merely hours. </p><p>Right now, spent after their last round of steamy sex, Ethan was sound asleep, with his head of soft dusty blond curls pillowed on Harry's chest and his limbs wrapped around Harry's naked body almost possessively. </p><p>As Harry's eyes followed the intricate curves of the lines on the wallpaper above, his mind wandered off to the blond he had met at Butterbrew. His glittering silver eyes and his soft, nervous smile flashed in Harry’s brain, forcing him to shut his eyes in exasperation in an effort to block the image. </p><p>For some reason, the blond kept popping up in Harry's mind unprompted, like an obscure fact or the face of a random stranger that one never seems to forget. The interaction has been playing in an endless loop in the back of Harry’s mind all evening, like the song that sticks in your brain for no apparent reason and then plays on until you cannot think without background music. It felt like that annoying tab in the computer one's unable to close. </p><p>It was driving Harry mental. Not the thought of the blonde per say, but Harry’s inability to think beyond it ever since he had left the cafe. It was one of the reasons why he had decided to crash at Ethan's place. He had been hoping to forget everything in the intoxicating sensation of sex. Everything: including the cute barista, the meeting with Lucius Malfoy that had left Harry with a feeling of cold dread in the pit of  his stomach—like misery rotting insidiously, and the inevitable arrival of his parents’ death anniversary. </p><p>Harry opened his eyes and sighed. Feeling restless, he carefully removed his hand from underneath Ethan, adjusting his head on the pillow so as not to wake him up. Ethan whined low in his throat, but settled back into a restful sleep when Harry shushed him, gently stroking his side. </p><p>Quietly, Harry crept out of bed, throwing a house robe over his shoulders. Their cloths were strewn across the room where they had been discarded earlier. Harry fished the pockets of Ethan’s jeans for a lighter and some spare cigarettes before going out to the veranda.  </p><p>Leaning against the railing, he lit up a stick and took a long drag, feeling the coarse air scorch his lungs, then watched the curling smoke rise up in a swirl as he exhaled. Stars twinkled against the dark blue sky, the last traces of the night beginning to recede.  </p><p>Ethan's apartment was on the top floor of a posh residential building and the view of the skyline was quite pleasant. Too soon, his cigarette burned out and Harry just stood there for a while, losing track of time.</p><p>Resting his hands on the cold metal of the railing, he watched the dawn break. Cold air ruffled his hair and bit at his bare skin, washing away his anxious thoughts and soothing his frayed nerves.</p><p>After a while he heard the rustling of sheets behind him, followed by the soft padding of Ethan's footsteps. Arms wrapped around his middle as Ethan hugged him from behind, warm hands snaking under Harry's robes and lingering on his waist, making Harry shiver. </p><p>"I thought you left," Ethan mumbled sleepily, his voice muffled as he buried his face between Harry’s shoulder blades.</p><p>Harry's eyes fluttered shut without his permission, his body melting into the warmth that enveloped him. "Did I wake you up?"</p><p>Ethan shook his head, “No.” His hair tickled Harry's jaw as he pressed his lips to Harry’s throat, peppering it with lazy, feather-light kisses. </p><p>Without taking his eyes off the view, Harry simply inclined his head, giving him better access. </p><p>Suddenly Ethan stopped. Pulling away a little, he sniffed, then burying his face in the crook of Harry's neck he sniffed again. "I thought you didn't smoke."</p><p>There was no accusation in his voice, only curiosity. That was one of the things Harry liked about Ethan, he never assumed or expected anything, and he took things  in a stride before reacting. </p><p>"I made an exception today," Harry said. </p><p>Ethan rested his chin on Harry's shoulder. "And what's the occasion?" </p><p>The lingering smile in his voice made something inside Harry ache. </p><p><em>I needed a reason to breath, </em>he wanted to say. But he knew that wasn't the answer Ethan would like to hear, so instead he stayed quite. </p><p>Silence fell between them, but it wasn’t oppressive. Ethan never needed Harry to talk or fill the gap. Usually after sex they just laid quietly in contemplative silence, lost in their own thoughts until they either went for another round or one of them had to get up and leave. </p><p>Sometimes Ethan talked about his day, and Harry just listened, humming and adding his own input now and then, wherever appropriate. In his weaker moments, Harry opened up about himself, too, but mostly in vague and elusive terms. And such moments were so rare and short lived that they ended before Ethan could get anything real and meaningful out of him. </p><p>And that was it. Ethan knew better than to push him. The next day they forgot about their conversation, or at least pretended to, and went about their lives in their very different worlds. No elaborations, no explanations. It was one of the reasons why Harry preferred Ethan's company instead of his usual one offs. </p><p>"You have been distracted today," Ethan said quietly. </p><p>Harry hummed and turned around to face him, his back against the cold railing. He wrapped his arms around Ethan's waist and pulled him close. Ethan made a surprised little sound and, bringing his hands up to Harry’s chest, clutched the front of his robe. </p><p>Harry smiled crookedly. "Well, I was with you”—He leaned forward and nipped at Ethen’s exposed collar bone, making the blond shiver in his arms— “And you <em>are</em> rather distracting,” he murmured between kisses, nibbling at his jaw.</p><p>Ethan laughed, pretending to escape, “It tickles!" Then he pulled away a little, his hands still on Harry's chest, and raised an eyebrow at Harry as if to say <em>Really? You are going to be that corny?</em> But the last traces of laughter were still lingering on his pink lips as he smiled, hazel eyes shining with mirth. </p><p>And for the first time Harry was struck by his beauty, realising that this was a guy millions of people fawned over, people who would give anything to just get a smile or a handshake from him. And here Harry was, unappreciative and taking him for granted while he had him in his arms, laughing. </p><p>Because Harry never stayed <em>after</em>, this was the first time he was seeing Ethan first thing in the morning, right after he has woken up. Ethan’s hair was sleep tousled, soft bouncy curls resting against his forehead in gentle waves, and his warm hazel eyes were completely unguarded, the regular charm he wore to appeal to his fans and media stripped away, leaving him bare, raw and naked to Harry’s eyes. </p><p>He looked so young and vulnerable, his soft milky cheeks flushed and glowing after a restful sleep.  </p><p>Sometimes it was easy to forget that behind all the glamour of the camera and make up, Ethan was just a 22 year old, starting his career after years of struggle and grinding that actors and models have to go through when they lacked an inside connection. </p><p>And as he looked at Ethan, his face so bright and open, Harry felt as if he was holding something fragile in his arms, something that would easily break if he wasn’t careful and gentle, or if pressed just a little too hard. </p><p>The realisation of the other person's vulnerability was stifling to Harry, like a responsibility he could not bear. And he had the sudden urge to pull his hand away before he caused any damage.<br/>
 <br/>
Ethan was staring back at him and the look in his eyes was so tender that it <em>hurt</em>. Harry wanted to look away. </p><p>“What?” he asked instead, his voice just above a whisper. </p><p>Ethan bit hip lip, dropping his eyes. “Nothing, it’s just”—he traced the bumps of Harry’s abs with his index finger—“well, you stayed the night....and I have never seen you in the morning before, and...” he trailed off, looking up at Harry from under his eyelashes “...it’s just...it feels like I am seeing you for the first time.” </p><p>Amused at this unusual display of shyness from the other man, Harry brought his hand up and grazed his thumb gently across the assaulted lip before catching it in a chaste kiss.</p><p>Pulling away, Harry raised an eyebrow, “And what’s your verdict?”</p><p>“Well...” A faint blush blossomed on Ethan’s cheeks, “you don’t look much different...I had hoped that at least in the morning you would be a little...” His hand reached up, almost unconsciously, to Harry’s forehead, as if to brush off his fringes. But before he could do it, Harry caught his wrist snapping him out of his musing “....less guarded,” Ethan finished lamely. </p><p>Harry looked away, his throat constricting with guilt, “I didn’t stay, you dozed off. I was about to leave.”</p><p>For a second Harry thought he saw hurt in Ethan’s eyes, but before he could be certain, it was gone.</p><p>“Sorry, I forgot,” Ethan said, dropping his hand and giving Harry a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You don’t like me touching your hair.” Extracting himself from Harry's arms, he stepped away and pulled his robe tighter around himself, muttering under his breath. “Except when you are fucking me.”</p><p>Harry opened his mouth, then closed it. He didn’t know what to say to that.</p><p>It was true, Harry didn’t like people touching his hair or his scar. Sex was a different story, but otherwise the act <em>itself</em> was so familiar and intimate to him that it left him feeling exceptionally vulnerable, and apart from his family he wasn’t really comfortable with anyone else getting that close to him or seeing him like that. </p><p>Harry reached out a hand for the distressed blond but caught himself midway, his fingers curling up in a ball and dropping at his side. </p><p>“Right,” Harry said tightly, “I think I should leave.”</p><p>Ethan’s lips parted and his eyes flashed, and for a moment Harry thought he was going to say something, rage even. But then he looked away, snapped his mouth shut with a huff, and, closing the distance between them, threw his arms around Harry's middle, burying his face in Harry’s chest. </p><p>Harry started, surprised. “Ethan—.”</p><p>But Ethan shushed him. “Don’t. Just...just shut up, Harry. It’s cold.” </p><p>Harry swallowed. This was new, he was taken completly off guard. Hoping it was the right thing to do, he tentatively wrapped his arms around Ethan, who was trembling now, and rested his chin on the top of his head, drawing soothing circles on the small of his back. </p><p>They stood like that for a while until Ethan finally broke the silence. </p><p>“Why are you like this?” he asked, and Harry was surprised by the hurt and anguish in his voice. “Why do you always shut off. Every time—” his breath hitched-- “Every time I think that I am finally getting a chance to see you, the <em>real</em> you...you shut off...you <em>always</em> shut off... like a mouse trap right before I am about to get the cheese.”  He pulled away, and Harry was horrified to see the tears threatening to spill from his eyes. “It <em>hurts</em>, Harry. When you shut off like that it—” his voice cracked as a sob tore through him, “—<em>it fucking hurts!</em>” </p><p>Harry was at a loss. “I-I don’t—” </p><p>“Just once, Harry,” he begged, “Let me have a glimpse of the person behind the whole billionaire bravado, <em>please</em>. Is that too much to ask?”</p><p>“Ethan I—,” Harry's voice caught in his throat, it broke his heart to see Ethan like this. “I can’t, I—I don’t know how to—”</p><p>“I know,” Ethan said, sounding resigned. Then wiping his eyes, he straightened up. “I know,” he repeated, his voice a little stronger this time. But the tears that rolled down his cheeks betrayed him. “Fuck, I—” he wiped them angrily, looking away. Then taking a deep breath he turned back to Harry and gave him a watery smile, “It’s okay. I understand. You were always clear about your position.”</p><p>Oh, what Harry wouldn’t give to be able to just rip his heart out of his chest and hand it over to this beautiful person in front of him. If only it would make Harry love him, or make him feel something, <em>anything</em>. </p><p>But Harry had stopped feeling long ago. Not since...not since....</p><p>Harry's heart still ached at the thought. And it <em>ached</em> for Ethan, who looked so small and defeated as he stood there in the cold, his arms wrapped around himself, tears hanging from his long eyelashes like beads of pearls. And it gutted Harry to see it. </p><p>But that was all Harry was capable of feeling. Pain, sadness, anger, irritation. But not love, not yearning, not security...not...not okay. </p><p>So he looked away. He didn’t know what else to do.  And with his jaw set tight and his fingers clenched at his side, he took in a deep stuttering breath, “Ethan, I—” </p><p>Ethan places a finger on his lips and shook his head. “I don’t want to hear it,” he said, snifling. “Let’s just pretend like my heart didn’t just break, okay? And then we can go on.” Harry's lips parted, but Ethan just shook his head stubbornly, silencing him.</p><p>Bringing his hands up, Ethan cupped Harry’s face, stroking his cheek with his thumb. Then standing up on his tiptoes, he pressed a soft kiss at the corner of Harry’s mouth. “It’s okay,” he whispered, as if he was trying to comfort Harry. Then he pulled away and left.</p><p>Harry just stood there, wide eyed and frozen. After a while, when he felt like he could breath again and look at Ethan without the guilt that was coursing through his veins gnaw at his insides, he went back into the room. </p><p>Ethan was in bed, curled up on his side and scrolling through his phone. He didn’t say anything when Harry entered, neither did he say anything while Harry got dressed. </p><p>There was a tense silence in the room, the only sound being that of rustling of clothes, and of Ethan’s muffled sniffles, each of which felt like a hot knife piercing Harry’s heart. </p><p>Standing only in his trousers in front of the dresser Harry ran a hand through his hair, trying to make it look less 'shagged' and more 'boss'. His eyes wandered off to the side on the mirror, meeting Ethan’s, who was watching him with an unreadable expression on his face from where he was tucked under the covers.</p><p>Usually Harry would have flashed him a charming smile or a smirk, but today he just averted his gaze, pulling on his shirt. </p><p>He heard a soft click behind him and whirled around. Propped on his elbows, Ethan was unapologetically holding up his phone.</p><p>Harry looked at him, incredulous. “Did you just click a picture of me? Shirtless?” Knowing their status, they always avoided intimate pictures from the fear of them getting leaked. </p><p>Ethan just raised his chin defiantly, daring Harry to challenge him. When Harry just gaped at him, he turned away with a huff, burying himself under the sheets. </p><p>If the situation hadn’t been so agonising, Harry would have found this sudden display of a petulant, pouty Ethan amusing and adorable. But today it just made him feel worse. </p><p>With a heavy heart he finished dressing up. Once he was done, he stood awkwardly in the room, one hand in his pocket and the other rubbing the back of his neck. Usually, he kissed Ethan before leaving, and even though Harry always found it stupid, he still liked it because <em>Ethan</em> liked it. Now Harry didn’t know what to do. </p><p>He wanted to go over to Ethan. To kiss him and sooth him. To tickle him until he burst out laughing, unable to stay mad at Harry anymore. But Harry did none of that. </p><p>He wanted to, he <em>wanted to want to</em> do all of that. But there was always something that stopped him from taking the final step forward, from opening the door, from closing the gap. Something that always made Harry shy away from breaking the surface. </p><p>All he could think about was running away before he hurt Ethan even more, before he caused some irreparable damage. </p><p>Harry was a wreck. And what he touched, what he loved, he didn’t have it in him to cherish it, to protect it, to guard it. And the thought of losing, the thought of ruining someone he loved made him want to back away. </p><p>This was why Harry always left his partners before they could catch feelings. And Ethan was a huge mistake. A breaking of pattern and a lapse in judgement, and now Ethan was hurt. </p><p>All because Harry was something broken. Someone lost. Someone who just <em>couldn’t feel</em>. </p><p>Harry's eyes caught Ethan’s one last time as he closed the door to his room, and the pain he saw in them tugged at his heart. </p><p>Outside, he dropped his head against the door and swallowed hard. </p><p>He hadn’t loved anyone, he hadn’t liked anyone, he hadn’t <em>felt</em> for anyone. Not since the last 7 years...</p><p>Not since the last person who had loved him had paid the price with their life...</p><p>Not since he had watched them getting beaten to death in front of his eyes. Not since he had them taking their last breath in him arms while Harry begged for them to stay, to <em>please, please, just hold on a little longer.</em> </p><p>7 years ago, as Harry had watched the coffin of his dead boyfreind being lowered into the earth, he hadn't realised the one thing that he knew now:</p><p>When you bury a loved one, you bury your heart with them. </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>DO LEAVE COMMENTS AND REVIEWS! </p><p>I hope I did not make a mistake with this chapter, but in the first chapter I introduced Draco and before that I introduced the villens, sorta. So i thought it fair that you got a glimps into Harry pre-love draco? So that you could see the change as our precious idiots fall in love.</p><p>Also, I don't know what happened. I swear I love drarry and I rarely ever and usually never like Harry and Draco with anyone else. But Ethan? He wasn't even planned? He was suppose to have like 3 paragraphs worth of mention and now he just BOOM has a whole chapter? </p><p>The whole time I was writing this chapter, i kept thinking "Harry will love draco, and I will have to hurt Ethan, and i am not goona like it, because suddenly this OC became my precious baby. </p><p>Don't worry, i always love Draco more.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. The Colour of Wine and Blood: part 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This chapter was getting too long, so I had to cut it short into smaller parts.<br/>Sorry for the late update, Quarantine takes a toll on the best of us.<br/>I have decided to go by the format of smaller and more frequent updates, as that seems to suit my schedule better, I think? I hope it's suitable for you all as well.<br/>This chapter is mostly the build-up before the drama. </p><p>HAPPY READING!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>This was a terrible idea, Draco thought as he stared outside the window of the Jaguar.</p><p>Pansy was sitting next to him, doing some last-minute touch-ups to her makeup. Blaise had invited them to celebrate at his new luxury night club and also to have a fun night out.</p><p>It has been a long time since they hung out together like this, especially long time for Draco, who had been rather distant from his friends until the recent past. Safe to say that his friends didn’t take it well, and Draco couldn’t really blame them. Draco hadn’t exactly been the ideal friend to them for the past few months.</p><p>Or for the past year.</p><p>At this point, he couldn’t even pinpoint the moment when things had started to fall apart for him. He had been delusional and ignorant and insulting to his friends when they had tried to warn him. And later when he had royally fucked up, he had refused their help and pushed them away out of shame, for the sake of his wounded pride and to preserve the last shred of his dignity.</p><p>Draco wasn’t even sure why Blaise had invited him at all. The Italian wasn’t the most forgiving person. None of them were.</p><p>Sure, they had met a couple of times after things had ended with <em>him</em>. But those meetings were awkward and restrained and basically forced by Pansy who was doing everything in her power to get things back to how they were <em>before</em>. But this night-out was different, it was a celebration like the <em>good old times</em>.</p><p>Draco wasn’t sure if he belonged in those times anymore, or with those people.</p><p>Because the truth was, things would never be the same again because Draco would never be the same again.</p><p>Sometimes he felt like a burden on Pansy, who was endlessly trying to pretend like things were normal. But they weren’t. Draco knew they weren’t. And maybe Pansy knew it too. But she just loved Draco too much to let her own beliefs stop her from looking out for him.</p><p>She was the one who had stuck with him. The one who had refused to give up on him, she was just too stubborn for that. The one who hugged him tight without any questions when he had shown up on her doorstep, debauched and bruised. She had been the one to help him when he suddenly became a non-voluntary contributor to gay porn.</p><p>He looked over at Pansy as she adjusted the waves of her bob and his heart swelled. If there was one thing he was thankful for, after all that had happened, it was the realisation that he had some of the most wonderful friends. No matter how fucked up his family or his love life was, he had hit jackpot in the friendship department. He had never realised it until he had lost them and they had still found him.</p><p>He was glad that now he knew who mattered, <em>who really mattered,</em> and maybe that clarity would make him more careful in the future when it came to people who he held most dear to him. Now he knew who to cherish.</p><p>“You are doing it again,” said Pansy, not looking away from her compact.</p><p>Draco shrugged, “I don’t know what you mean.”</p><p>She rolled her eyes, snapping the compact shut, and looked at him, raising an eyebrow.</p><p>Draco looked straight ahead.</p><p>Sighing, she took Draco's hand in hers and squeezed. “Hey,” she said softly, “It's going to be fine.”</p><p>“You don’t know that.” His tone was flat, but the slight tremor in his voice betrayed him.</p><p>Pansy shifted in her seat and turned completely to face him, taking both his hands in hers and forcing Draco to look at her.</p><p>“You need to get out there, Draco. You can’t shut yourself up forever.”</p><p>Draco knew she was right. He glared at her, but when she just looked at him pointedly with that stubborn little tilt of her chin, he dropped his eyes.</p><p>She huffed, but it sounded more helpless and worried than exasperated. “Look, I cannot fully understand how you feel but I know my friend and he is the strongest most resilient person I know.” Stroking the back of his hand with her thumb, she added softly. “I just want you to be happy again.”</p><p>Draco looked at her from under his eyelashes, “ I—” his voice caught and he shook his head. <em>I can’t, </em>he wanted to say. <em>I just can’t, it’s too much.</em></p><p>Somehow, Pansy knew what he was thinking. “What happened with Justin—it wasn’t your fault. You have to stop blaming yourself for it.” When Draco didn’t say anything, she groaned, “For heaven’s sake, Draco! Justin was an abusive bastard, and he used you. If anything, you are the—”</p><p>She stopped when Draco paled.</p><p><em>Victim.</em> She didn’t say it, but Draco heard it loud and clear.</p><p>Her face scrunched up with guilt.</p><p>“S’okay,” Draco said quietly. The last thing he wanted to do was ruin Pansy’s night.</p><p>She shook her head. “Promise me you will at least <em>try </em>to have a good time, and that you will tell me when you feel like it’s too much.” Draco remained quite. “Promise me, Draco. Please.”</p><p>He sighed, then gave her a wan smile. “Okay.” He couldn't really argue with her when she looked like that, her big eyes full of sisterly concern.</p><p>She beamed and it turned Draco’s smile into a real one.</p><p>Straightening up, she gave him a once-over and smirked, “And by the way, you look smashing. You will have a date for the night before you even know it.”</p><p>“Thank you, you look very beautiful yourself.” And she did. She was wearing a black body-con paired with a long ankle-length, black, embroidered shrug. Long crystal danglers hung from her ears and a jewelled bracelet adorned her wrist. She looked hot and ready to charm. “But I would rather not,” he said, “getting involved with another guy is the last thing on my mind right now.”</p><p>Pansy understood but she scoffed anyway, “Kill the fun, why don’t you?”</p><p>He laughed and looked out of the window, not letting go of her hand.</p><p>“It’s going to be fine,” she repeated gently.</p><p>“I hope so.” He exhaled, <em>I really hope so. </em></p><p>Pansy squeezed his hand one last time before letting it go and turning away. They sat quietly in companionable silence, both lost in thought until Draco spoke.</p><p>“Remember when we used to bet on who could get the most numbers by the end of the night?”</p><p>Pansy cringed. “Don’t remind me, we were so corny and stupid.”</p><p>“It was your idea in the first place."</p><p>She placed one leg over the other and crossed her arms over her chest, raising her chin. “I did no such thing.”</p><p>Draco smirked mischievously, “You are denying it only because you lost.”</p><p>“I didn’t lose, you cheated!” She accused.</p><p>“There was no rule that said we had to stick to our orientation, I just played ball in both the courts.”</p><p>“Yeah, cheating!”</p><p>They argued like that until they reached the club. At some point, Pansy scratched Draco with her long nails, her go-to weapon since high school, but he was too busy laughing to notice.</p><p>Maybe the night wouldn’t be so bad after all.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>By the time they reached their destination, Draco was already feeling pumped up and a little excited. The chauffeur opened the door and they stepped out of the car, walking to the front of the queue where the bouncer let them through. The club was busier than usual owing to the rush of Halloween </p><p>The inside of the club was dim and loud, dance floor dazzling under the lights as bodies writhed and jumped to the beats of the music. The open bar at the centre was handing out drinks like water as people screamed and cheered to various tricks the bartenders were performing.</p><p>Open bars was one of Blaise’s best ideas, all his clubs had one near the dance floor. People just had to get a drinking package from a counter at the entry and then they could get smashed non-stop for the whole night. They were cheap and abundant and more accommodative to diverse pockets. The public loved it, and Blaise loved it because it was good for business.</p><p>Overhead, looking down at the dance floor, was the indoor-balcony that ran around the perimeter of the place. Away from the wild crowd below, it had booths and couches for people to sit and eat and a bar that served expensive liquor and cocktails. Patrons who were here to meet someone or just needed some peace to drown their sorrows preferred that area, and it suited the more snobbish clients who loved to flaunt their privilege as not everyone could afford to enjoy the facilities it offered.</p><p>Draco craned his neck, trying to find Blaise in the crowd.</p><p>“Guys, here!”</p><p>It was Theodore Nott, waving to catch their attention. He was behind the counter of the open bar, pouring out drinks in exchange for kisses.</p><p>Draco laughed, he liked how lively and unrestrained Theo was. He was different from all of them, with his easy playboy charms. While Blaise had a strong game too, his vibe was too classy and posh for some people's liking. Theo, on the other hand, had the high-school, popular Casanova image going on for him, which mostly played out in his favour.</p><p>Coming up behind Draco, Pansy tutted. “Seriously?”</p><p>A girl had just pulled Theo down by his jacket and planted a kiss on his collar, leaving a lipstick stain behind as the crowd hooted. Smirking saucily, Theo poured her a drink, then whispered something in her ear as he handed it to her. The girl winked at him and the crowd hooted louder.</p><p>Pansy and Draco made their way to the open-bar which was located on a raised platform.</p><p>“Give me your hand!” Theo shouted over the music, and before Draco could protest, he bent over and pulled Draco up to stand on the outer side of the counter, opposite him. Draco wobbled a little as there wasn't enough space to place his feet and Theo held his hips, “Steady, there.” Then he leaned in and whispered into Draco's ear, “Serve with me?” Draco looked at him with wide eyes and shook his head. But Theo was having none of it. He turned Draco around to face the crowd and yelled, “Who wants my friend here to serve with me?!”</p><p>The crowd shrieked in agreement, it was like the bar had more attention than the DJ. Theo had that effect on people, money and good looks was a combination that served him well.</p><p>“Free shots for anyone here who manages to seduce him!”</p><p>Draco’s eyes widened, “Theo!”</p><p>But Theo was in his elements. He wrapped his arms around Draco's waist, resting his chin on his shoulder, “Come on, precious, it’ll be fun.” His breath ticked Draco's jaw, making him shiver as he tried to fight back the blush that was quickly rising up his pale cheeks. Theo always did this to him, Draco cursed mentally, sometimes to the point where Draco was forced to wonder if Theo was actually interested and flirting with him or if he was just being...well, Theo.</p><p>Draco would be lying if he said the thought of them together hadn’t crossed his mind. But with Justin, and then his life being so…so…<em>so</em><em> fucked! </em>That he just—</p><p>He just—  </p><p>Draco's breath quickened and he felt himself slipping as he stared at the overwhelming crowd in front of him, which suddenly seemed mute and blurry, as if Draco was looking at them through water, the sound filtering through a translucent shield that isolated him from the world, and reaching him in a cacophony of distorted voices.</p><p>And suddenly he was back in the pub. A shady pub with cheap beer and vulgar, reeking bodies. He was back in the filthy loo with Justin holding him, <em>pinning him</em> as Draco cried and struggled, but nobody could hear his screams over the blasting DJ outside, which was booming and loud. <em>So loud... </em></p><p>Firm hands grabbed him from behind and lifted him up to sit on the counter, pulling him back to reality from the horrifying images that were splashing in his mind. The world stopped spinning and snapped into place with a jarring screech as all the noises came crashing back.</p><p>Draco, with his heart thudding wildly in his chest, instinctively pulled his legs up so that he could drop them on the other side when Theo turned him around, away from the strangers' drunken eyes.</p><p>Theo rested his hands on the slab on either side of Draco, fortifying him in a protective cage as Draco tried to get his breathing under control. He was still in a haze, sitting disoriented on the counter when Theo stepped closer, between his parted knees, and helped him out of the confines of his jacket. The familiar musky scent of Theo's cologne enveloped him, drowning the nauseating odour of spirit and alcohol and soothing his rattled nerves.  </p><p>Setting the jacket aside, he kissed Draco's cheek. “It’s okay, I've got you.”</p><p>Draco gulped and nodded. He looked over his shoulder to find Pansy, who was talking to Blaise. She caught Draco's eyes and nudged Blaise’s bicep to get his attention. Blaise turned to look at him and raised his glass in a silent toast before taking a sip. Next to him, Pansy widened her eyes pointedly, giving Draco a <em>go on then</em> look.</p><p>That was all the push Draco needed. Stealing his resolve, he jumped off the counter and took a deep breath, trying to remember all the times he had enjoyed entertaining people like this and loved basking in their attention.</p><p>Then he pushed up his sleeves and turned to face the cheering crowd. Flicking his hair out of his eyes, he shouted, “So who wants some drinks on fire!”</p><p>And the crowd went wild.</p><p>As Draco flipped a bottle and started pouring out drinks, he glanced at Theo in the hopes of catching his gaze.</p><p>But Theo had already moved on to his next conquest. A guy, emboldened by the screaming and rallying of the people, fisted the front of Theo's shirt and pulled him down for a snog.</p><p> </p><p>**</p><p> </p><p>Harry stared at the wrought-iron gates of the cemetery, his knuckles white from how hard his fingers were gripping onto the steering wheel.</p><p>Throwing his head back against the seat, he exhaled. He had been waiting in the same spot for almost an hour now, trying and failing to gather the courage to enter.</p><p>He knew that he should go inside, drop the flowers and everything...He just <em>couldn’t. </em></p><p>His hands trembled as the screams echoed in his head, images of blood—s<em>o much blood—</em>flashing in front of his eyes.</p><p>He knew it was not right. He hasn't visited his parents’ grave in years, something which was a yearly ritual when he was a teenager. As a child, Harry had felt a morbid kind of calmness in the still and quiet surroundings of the cemetery. He used to spend hours in there, holding one-sided conversations with James and Lily’s graves to escape the lonely life at his abusive relatives’ house, before Sirius and Remus had managed to get his custody.</p><p>But not anymore, it’s been ages since he stepped through those gates even though he tried it every year. All in vain.</p><p>His eyes stung and he closed them, feeling his throat tighten. Swallowing hard, he looked at the gates again. Then slammed his hand on the steering, “FUCK IT!”</p><p>Angry, he grabbed the wheel and started the engine, making a sharp U-turn, barely missing the street lamp as he recklessly turned the corner.</p><p>He could try again next year, he told himself as his foot unconsciously pressed harder onto the accelerator, engine straining as the speed picked up and increased to dangerous levels. Realising what he was doing, Harry hit the brakes and hastily parked the car. It screeched to a halt at the side of the road, and he killed the engine.  </p><p>The silence that followed was eerie, making the sound of his heart beating wildly in his chest ring louder in his ears. He clenched his jaw so tight his teeth ached and he forced himself to relax. For several minutes he sat still, struggling to hold himself together as he took deep breaths, but to no avail. Dropping his forehead against the steering in defeat, he pressed the heels of his palms on his eyes, painfully aware that he was losing it.</p><p>He shouldn’t drive, not like this, or he could seriously hurt someone. He should just find a decent place where he could get some hard liquor to drown the night and probably a hookup.</p><p>Yes, that’s what he needed, a drink and some mindless fucking to forget what a pathetic and miserable day it was.</p><p>He scrolled down the touch screen navigator on his dash and clicked on the first place that seemed suitable, before starting the engine.</p><p>It belonged to the Zabini's, which was all Harry saw and cared about when he parked outside the club and entered.</p><p>The Halloween rush was crazy, the cluster of people around the open bar seemed to be having the time of their lives as a couple of men behind the counter served at their pleasure. They didn't seem like bartenders as one of the guys was just pulled down for what looked like a very heated kiss. The person standing next to him seemed attractive, even though Harry couldn't see him properly from afar and the lights did not help. Maybe Harry could convince the guy for a quick shag later, he certainly seemed Harry's type.</p><p>But first some much-needed alcohol, he thought as he made for the bar at the far end of the balcony</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Announcement: If any of you is interested in being the Beta reader for this fic, you can let me know in the comment section or DM me at @siriusly_wolfish on insta.<br/>It would be a huge help as it gets very difficult to find typos in such long pieces, even more so for those of us who read and re-read them so many times that we kind of predict the words and this leads to us missing the typos.</p>
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<a name="section0005"><h2>5. The Colour of Wine and Blood: part 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This chapter still has more parts left. funny thing is, this whole scene wasn't even part of the initial draft? <br/>HAPPY READING!</p><p>special thanks to Alexmeg, she is my emotional support system and always encourages me in case of doubt. and my beta Sophie who would probably have to put up with my trashy mess of writing in the near future.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
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  <span>Harry’s eyes raked over the guy behind the bar. If he wasn’t so desperate for some alcohol he would have perked up to get a closer look at him. Harry watched as the dark-haired man wrapped an arm around the blonde’s shoulders, whispering something in his ear that had the blonde bursting into a fit of startled laughter. </span>
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  <span>Something inside Harry ached almost enviously at the display of comfort and familiarity of the two men. He wasn’t sure if the burning sensation that erupted in his chest was the scotch or his jealousy. He wished he could have that kind of easy company too, the intimacy of laughing over a silly inside joke while standing in front of a hoard of people, satisfied in the knowledge that nobody else but you and your lover was in on the secret. </span>
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  <span>But the person who had chosen to share his laughter with him—Ethan—Harry had left him in tears that morning, choosing to get debauched at a bar, instead, where he was lonely among a bunch of celebrating people. This happiness, this celebration, it rubbed Harry’s skin raw. And yet he was here. Sometimes he wondered if he was just a masochistic bastard who enjoyed this slow torture. </span>
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  <span>As Harry watched the two men, the image in front of his eyes changed and blurred into that of a whitewashed room with a much younger dark-haired boy throwing his paintbrush in frustration. </span>
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    <span>“Stupid, stupid brush!”</span>
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    <span>“That’s a little harsh for a brush, don't you think?” a voice spoke from behind him with a hint of amusement.  </span>
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    <span>Kind brown eyes looked at Harry with barely concealed concern as the person picked up the paintbrush and handed it back to the smaller boy, who spluttered out an embarrassed reply, blushing and mumbling under his breath. </span>
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    <span>“They say it's supposed to help me. Stupid therapy, all it does is make me frustrated.”</span>
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    <span>The person smiled. “You get frustrated because you are trying to be perfect,” he said, not unkindly. “This is art, just let yourself go.”</span>
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    <span>Rolling his eyes, Harry turned back to his canvas, his brows furrowing as he pinned the offensive pot with a glare. “Well, forgive me Mr. Imperfect for wanting to follow the instructions and paint that stupid pot right.”</span>
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    <span>Gentle hands smoothed over his tense shoulders as a body pressed against his back, “Relax.” When Harry just huffed, he added, “Trust me.”</span>
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    <span>Forcing himself to relax, Harry hovered his brush hesitatingly over the canvas, biting his lip.</span>
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    <span>A pale hand covered his smaller one and guided it into a perfectly arched stroke. </span>
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    <span>“It doesn’t have to be right to be beautiful,” the person murmured softly, his eyes trained on the canvas as he continued to help the younger boy. “You can lose all that control here. That is what art is about—To let your inner beast go free.”</span>
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    <span>Green eyes watched, entranced by the imperfect but marvellous and bold lines that seemed to come alive, even though they were a bit different than the pot on the table. The timber like voice hypnotised him into a sense of calm that he hadn’t felt in ages. </span>
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    <span>Harry tilted his head up to look at the other boy. He was older than him, maybe by a couple of years, and had honey brown eyes that shone amber in the sun, his tuft of dusty light-brown hair fell just over his eyebrows before curling up, as if shy of daring to hide the warmth those beautiful eyes radiated. His lips were pink and soft, curling as he spoke. And there was a constant smile tugging at the corner of his lips, so faint and genuine that it felt like a permanent fixture on his face. </span>
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    <span> It was when the person had turned to him to ask a question that Harry realised he had been staring. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Pardon?” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I asked if you would like to choose the next colour? For the flowers?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Harry shook his head and stared at the pot on the table, with its yellow and white flowers, then looked back at the encouraging, unassuming face of the stranger. “How about purple?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The stranger grinned, “I like purple.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry’s vision blurred, pulling him back from the bittersweet memory. Looking up, he blinked back the moisture that had pooled in his eyes and shook his head, ordering a refill. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was on his third glass of scotch when he heard a familiar voice. A voice that probed Harry's heart.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Two shots, please.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry turned his head and saw the same blonde who had been serving behind the counter below, and whom he had been admiring from afar, and he realised with a start that it was the blonde barista from Butterbrew.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The owner of the voice dropped on the barstool, panting and pushing his hair out of his face, which slicked back from perspiration. A few platinum strands fell into his eyes, making the blonde scrunch up his nose cutely, and Harry’s fingers itched to brush those bothersome strands of fine hair off his forehead and tuck them behind his ear.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He must have felt Harry’s eyes on him for he turned, probably to tell Harry off for staring at him. But when his eyes landed on Harry, they widened, and his lips parted. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The expression was adorable!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>And </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> thought was enough to remind Harry that he might be getting drunk. The scotch must be good because there was no way in hell that Harry would go around describing baristas he barely knew as </span>
  <em>
    <span>adorable. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mr Potter!” said the blonde, surprised. “Fancy seeing you here.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry raised an eyebrow, “I see you know my name.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shrugged. “It wasn't that difficult to find.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don't remember introducing myself though....uh…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Draco,” the blonde finished. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Draco,” Harry repeated. The name sounded awkward and foreign in his mouth. As if Harry didn't know how to say it right, as if he wasn’t worthy of uttering the name somehow, and his voice has degraded its beauty, like when a novice tries to read poetry aloud for the first time and the unpractised words tumble out sounding all wrong. Plain and uncouth.  </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Draco. </span>
  </em>
  <span>It echoed in his mind and Harry imagined how it would sound if spoken softly, sweetly, romantically, </span>
  <em>
    <span>intimately</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Breathlessly and brokenly. </span>
  </em>
  <span>How it would sound like if Harry felt worthy of taking it….</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry didn’t know what he had expected, but his mind had been incapable of imagining a name which would do justice to someone as unearthly as...</span>
  <em>
    <span>Draco. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a mystical name….enchanting even, strong and soothing like the oceans and the storms, and had the same kind of unworldly sublime beauty that comes with a chilling threat of mortal peril. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Do you even hear yourself?” </span>
  </em>
  <span>His mind admonished in a voice that sounded suspiciously like Remus. </span>
  <em>
    <span> “You sound like an unhinged romantic!” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“At least the romantics were intellectual poets!” </span>
  </em>
  <span>he mentally retorted, way past the point of caring about his unusual train of thought. Anything to avoid thinking about all the deaths.   </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sombre reminder brought him back to reality from the argument with his "inner me" and he took a long sip of his drink. “You didn’t answer my question.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco’s brows furrowed for a second, then cleared. “Oh, no, don’t worry,” he chuckled, “I am not a stalker. Hannah told me about you—” he broke off when two shot glasses filled with clear liquid were placed in front of him. He chugged one down in a gulp—his nose scrunching up again in that cute way that Harry was starting to find endearing. “She told me you were our investor,” he went on, gulping down the second glass. “Good thing I didn't mess up your order, huh?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry was too distracted to notice the nervousness in the blonde's playful question. Draco’s full lips looked insanely kissable. Wet, plump and red from biting and the sharp sting of alcohol. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry wasn’t stupid, he knew beauty when he saw it, he has bedded his fair share of attractive partners. From actors to athletes, to royalties.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But that wasn’t all. There was something so undeniably fetching about the blonde that had nothing to do with his appearance. It was </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span>—something he was still trying to put his finger on—that had struck Harry and caught his attention, getting his mind hooked on the baristas ever since he had met him the other day.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry was tempted to chat up the guy and see if he could convince him to spend the night like he had planned when he had seen him behind the bar when he had entered the club. And Harry would have gone ahead with his plan of hooking up with him, too, if it wasn't for the fact that Harry knew he worked at Butterbrew. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry didn't mess with people’s lives as a rule, and employees, whether his or Hannah's, were totally off-limits. It made things complicated, and while Harry knew he could easily get off the hook given his position, others usually ended up bearing the brunt of the backlash if they got involved with Harry, and Harry didn't like that. He had ruined enough lives as it is. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The memories of Ethan were still fresh in his mind and he didn't want any more guilt, not today. Especially not today. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry tipped his glass in response to Draco's earlier question and swallowed the last of his drink before ordering another, simply to do something with his hands while he watched the blonde from over the rim of his glass. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Satisfied with the answer, Draco had turned away to gaze at the dance floor, his foot lazily tapping to the beats of the music as he leaned against the counter, elbows resting on the slab. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His figure was lean and casually elegant, the light muscles on his arms showing a graceful, precise kind of strength that is usually seen in dancers or fencers. He wasn't athletic per se, but more like a model. He had a sculpted face and aristocratic nose, high cheekbones and jawline that looked more prominent because of his makeup, and light grey eyes that shone brighter in sharp contrast with his dark smokey eyeshadow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry’s eyes lingered over his legs, taking in his boots and his tight, black jeans that showed off the perfect lines of his toned limbs and hugged his arse in all the right places, fitting snugly on his trim waist. Traces of slight abs were obvious through the thin material of his white T-shirt, and from the neckline of which peeked out a tantalising collarbone. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh, How Harry would love to mark it. Bite and lick it all over. </span>
  </em>
  <span>And the juncture where his neck met his shoulder looked so creamy and tender, it was borderline criminal! </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry swallowed and shook his head. Either he was hornier than he had imagined, or his drunken libido might be getting the better of him because his poetic obsession with the man was getting a little ridiculous, and it irritated him to not know the reason behind his thoughts, even more nerve-wracking was the fact that Harry could not control himself or look away, something which had never happened to him before. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This was not normal, this was not just him checking someone out, this was different. And he didn't even know </span>
  <em>
    <span>how</span>
  </em>
  <span> it was different. It just was! </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Harry would have pulled his hair out at this point if he had been sober or less desperate for a distraction. Maybe this is what it was, just Harry's brain trying to hold onto anything and everything to keep him distracted so that he didn't get lost into the dark place in his mind. It was times like these that Harry reconsidered taking therapy, maybe everyone was right and he should get it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He snorted into his glass. Mighty good therapy did to him the last time he took. No thanks. He did not need another dead volunteer boyfriend. One is already too many. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry closed his eyes. His mind just </span>
  <em>
    <span>had </span>
  </em>
  <span>to go back there! He took a deep breath and opened his eyes, forcing himself to think of something else. Anything else. Like, Draco. Yes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco who was still looking at the dance floor, waving at people now and then. He had a smile on his face, not the kind of smile that one gives to another but the kind of elated smile that sticks to ones’ face when they are enjoying themselves and having a good time. His ivory face was flushed, eyes sparkling and cheeks blooming rosy from exhilaration, and his breathing was still a little heavy from when he had been dancing and serving at the bar down below. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry could feel his brain getting a little muddy and tipsy, a giddy kind of feeling rose in his chest as he continued to watch Draco. The way he snorted lightly when he saw something funny, or the way he wrinkled his nose, just a tiny bit, when he noticed someone getting too vulgar, the way he raised an amused eyebrow when he saw someone doing something bold. It was interesting how many expressions crossed a person's face without them realising, Harry thought, drinking in the view. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>On a couple of occasions, Draco would also touch Harry's bicep to catch his attention to show him whatever had amused him, and Harry nodded along, hmming, listening to his witty commentary. Draco seemed unaware that he was doing it, engaging Harry that is. But his free-spirited familiarity felt too good for Harry to rebuff. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe Draco was a little tipsy, he sure did sound like it. But maybe he was generally this honest and open about his opinion. Harry didn't mind either way. Draco didn't come across as mean-minded, but he did seem to have a savage streak for insults given his extensive, and a little pompous, vocabulary,  but nothing cruel or hurtful, so Harry was rather enjoying it, even though it seemed like Draco would have talked like that to anyone who would have been sitting there in Harry's place and that Harry was nothing special. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he didn't care. He was feeling tipsy and lazy, and he wasn't feeling miserable, and that was more than he could have asked for. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not a lot of time had passed though, just a few scores of minutes maybe, but the alcohol slowed the time, Harry still hadn't finished his recent glass of scotch. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looked at the amber liquid and frowned. Usually, he would either get bored with a person at this point, especially in such a scenario. But, surprisingly, that didn't happen. Not yet. And the whole time he had mindlessly watched Draco, he had been waiting for when Draco would start looking ugly, waiting for his flaws to show. But nothing like that happened. It was....bizarre. Even staring at a photo made it look ugly after a while, and Draco was just a person, sweaty and exhausted, with smudged makeup. Why did he still look so pretty in Harry's eyes? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The question perturbed Harry and he got up from the stool, excusing himself to the loo. Huddling himself in a stall, Harry latched the door and leaned against it, dropping his head back with a thud. The sudden silence left his ears ringing and made him aware of his rapid heartbeat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Swallowing, he took deep, measured breaths. Maybe he had just had too many drinks. Maybe he should go home. But go home where? To Lupins'? To Ethan's? To his own house? None of that seemed like home right now, no matter how desperate Harry felt to just go </span>
  <em>
    <span>somewhere, </span>
  </em>
  <span>anywhere. Just run. But nowhere seemed appealing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had hoped that getting lost in liquor and a stranger's arms would help him run away, but that didn't seem to help either. No, instead, he had just landed himself in another confusing muck of emotions, </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had the sudden urge to cry again.  Not from sadness, but from sheer anger and frustration! Why couldn't it just stop? Why could it not just stop for a second! All the feelings, all the anxiety, the anger, the agony that kept coiling and rolling into him just below the surface, suffocating him, strangling him, making him want to run away as far as possible even though he didn't know from what he was running and where he wanted to go, why didn't that feeling ever stop?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry kept waiting for it to explode, to come to end. To either end itself or end him altogether. But it just continued with it’s slow, nagging, insidious torture. Mocking him, taunting him. Tormenting him enough that sometimes he feared that it wouldn’t stop until it either killed him or he killed himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He turned to punch the door hard, to let out all that he was feeling into trashing the door, but he lost the strength at the last minute and ended up dropping his forehead against it pathetically. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A hollow, dry sob escaped his throat. He knew what he wanted, he knew where he wanted to run and hide forever. He knew what he craved. Problem was: that place was gone, lost 7 years ago.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His chest constricted, throat tightening to the point where his breaths came out in ragged, shallow pants. He felt dizzy and unstable on his feet, and he wasn't sure if it was the liquor or the lack of air. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His phone rang loudly, startling him so that he almost hit his head against the door. Wincing at the piercing tone, which sounded louder in the silence and all the more irritating to his drunk brain, he pulled it out from his pocket. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stared at the screen for a long, tense minute, letting the tone die out before it started ringing again. The caller ID did not flash a name, but a number. A number Harry was much too familiar with. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His jaw clenched, knuckles whitening from how tightly he was crushing his phone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then he laughed, rattling and hollow. He laughed and laughed and laughed until he teared up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oliver Wood was calling him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The bastard! On Halloween of all days. That brazen bullheaded bastard! For a second Harry had the childish impulse to pick up the phone and shout “Fuck you!,” before hanging up, only to get a morbid kick out of it. But he dismissed it immediately. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The ringing stopped, and Harry felt like he could breathe again. Then it rang again, and he picked up the phone, ready to hurl it against the wall, then stopped mid-air, his hand dropping limply at his side. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sat on the closed toilet seat and buried his head in his hands. He felt so tired. Tired and drained and defeated. He didn't even have the energy to get angry either. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He ran his hands through his hair, making it stick out in all directions, and stared at his phone again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then he turned off the ringer and got up to leave the loo. He was here for drinks and distraction, and that is what he would get. Draco wasn't the only one in this club tonight, he could still try and chat up someone else because there was no way he would go back to Ethan. The poor guy was hurt already, he didn't need Harry to use him for release and make it worse, Ethan deserved better than that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Harry went back to his original place, nodding at the bartender for another glass, he froze, his eyes brows shooting up to his hairline. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco was blushing madly as furry cat ears adorned his hair. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I know I am terrible at keeping up with a schedule but college has started again and I hate it. so pls be patient and stick around with me.<br/>Also, if I don't reply to your comments, that doesn't mean I haven't read them, usually, I reply to them mentally then forget to reply in real lmao. But I love your support and it always makes my day and motivates me and pushes me out of the slump and keeps me going. So thank you all so very much!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Cold Tiles</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>sorry for the delay, but this was a long chapter so I hope you guys would forgive me.</p><p>Happy Reading!!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>“My friends insisted on it,” Draco said, touching his hair self-consciously, “because of Halloween.” </p><p>Pansy had been there a minute ago, forcing the ridiculous thing on Draco's head, saying it was to set the festive mood. Draco knew she was just pulling his leg, but he went along with it anyway, and totally not because she emotionally blackmailed him into it.  </p><p>Potter looked away and swallowed, then without a word he dropped onto the barstool. </p><p>Draco bit his lip, “Maybe I should remove it.” </p><p>“Don’t!” said Potter. Then, as if realising what he had just said, he awkwardly cleared his throat. “It’s...it’s cute,” he said, not meeting Draco’s eyes. </p><p>Draco blushed at the compliment and shuffled from foot to foot, dropping his eyes to the floor. </p><p>The bartender brought Potter's drink and he immediately took a huge gulp, as if desperate to hide his face behind the glass. </p><p>Draco frowned. Was it Potter's fourth drink? His third? It wasn't like Draco was counting but he wouldn't lie, it was quite alarming, especially on such a busy night as Halloween when crime rates spiked. And Potter was alone. He certainly seemed alone. And with the way he was drinking, it didn't look like he was expecting anyone to come and escort him safely home.</p><p>Draco suddenly felt an inexplicable pang of concern for the man, and for the first time that night, he observed Potter carefully. </p><p>He looked haggard and his hair stuck out in places, and not in the fashionably messy way that he usually sported. If it hadn't been for his bloodshot eyes and trembling hands, Draco would have assumed that he had just had a quickie in the restroom.</p><p>For some unknown reason, the thought of Potter with someone else made Draco feel uneasy. He quickly dismissed it. Even though he found the man attractive, Draco knew his place and his situation. There was no way in hell that someone like Potter would ever spare him a second glance. Draco was nothing more than a broken, poor student who was living a lie and who served coffee to pay his rent and sold paintings to survive. And it wasn’t like, after everything that happened with Justin, Draco would ever be able to date anyone. He was damaged goods, with anxiety and trauma and lots of baggage. No one deserved that and, more importantly, Draco deserved no one. </p><p>However, all of that didn’t stop him from feeling a mild sense of envy. But as disconcerting as the thought of Potter hooking up with a stranger was, what was more worrying was his state of inebriation. Potter looked wasted and vulnerable, easy to be taken advantage of. </p><p>Draco felt a rush of protectiveness course through him and decided then and there to stick to the man’s side for the evening. After all, Draco’s conscience wouldn’t allow him to leave a friend who was pretty much defenceless. </p><p><em>But he is not your friend though</em>, a voice in his head pointed out. </p><p>Well, maybe not a friend, but an acquaintance?</p><p><em>Acquaintance? All you know about him is that his name is Harry Potter and he is hot, </em>the voice supplied. </p><p>Draco mentally grimaced and tossed away the thought, focusing on Potter again. </p><p>He was dressed in all black, from his shirt to his slacks, to his semi-casual suit jacket.  </p><p>“What’s with the outfit? You look like you just walked out of a funeral,” Draco said conversationally. </p><p>Potter froze, his glass halfway to his mouth, and for a second Draco feared that he had transgressed a line. “Something like that,” Potter said, swallowing audibly and putting his glass down. “I hate this fucking holiday,” he said hollowly, watching the liquid swirl in the glass. “It reeks of death and haunting. A fucking nightmare—!” he stopped short, visibly restraining himself from speaking any further.  </p><p>Draco frowned. </p><p>“Although,” Potter continued, his voice a touch lighter, the corner of his mouth lifting into a wry smile. “Those furry ears are making me reconsider my opinion,” he said, almost teasingly. </p><p>Draco's stomach flipped and he ducked his head, face burning crimson with a blush. “They are embarrassing is what they are!” he muttered. </p><p>“I beg to differ.” This time Draco was sure that Potter was teasing him. “If anything, they are making this night tolerable.” </p><p>Draco spluttered in mock indignation, his eyes widening and ears turning pink. </p><p>And Potter laughed. Soft, deep, and amused. And although his eyes still looked a little sad and his shoulders still drooped from exhaustion, his face had completely morphed into something much younger and livelier.</p><p>Draco felt his heart flutter in his chest like a happy bird, feeling proud to have made Potter laugh. Potter, who was now looking at Draco with a smile on his face that he seemed to be trying to hide behind his glass of scotch. </p><p>It was a good look on him, Draco decided. He also noticed something fascinating about Potter. That when he wasn’t smiling, he was all hard eyes and sharp edges—intimidating and unapproachable. But one smile and his whole face changed as if someone had flipped a switch to make the room look a lot brighter. His face suddenly looked friendlier, younger. His smile so beautiful and innocent that it looked like he had never known any pain at all, never known tears or suffering. But the moment that smile vanished, he went back to looking like an adult carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. And once <em>that</em> happened, others would be left missing his smile. </p><p>Draco realised he had been staring when Potter raised a quizzical eyebrow. </p><p>Draco shook his head and looked away, feeling conscious about the way he had been thinking about  Potter just now, irrationally frightened that someone might hear his very thoughts. Draco wondered if he had turned into a lightweight and the alcohol was hitting harder than usual. But before he could be forced to come up with an excuse for his staring, Potter’s phone buzzed. </p><p>He groaned and pulled it out of his pocket, then, grimacing at the caller ID, he clicked the power button and left the phone on the bar, face down.</p><p>“Avoiding admirers?” Draco asked casually. </p><p>Potter shook his head. “Work.” The phone rang again and Potter sighed, resigned. He unlocked it and did some sliding and clicking and typing (while Draco tried hard not to peek at the screen) before leaving it face down again.</p><p>Draco raised an eyebrow. “You’re not going to pick it up? It could be important.” </p><p>“It’s not like I will be of much use right now anyway.” </p><p>Draco opened his mouth then shut it again, thinking better of it. Just then his eyes caught Theo’s, who was waving at him from across the room to come back to the dance floor. Blaise and Pansy were there with him as well, dancing nearby. </p><p>Draco shook his head, his eyes darting towards Potter. He was unwilling to leave the man alone like this, and he was actually enjoying the easy company, so unlike the intrusive questions and grave looks that he got from his friends these days.</p><p>Theo looked at Potter and frowned, then pointedly looked at Draco as if to say <em>Come on. </em></p><p>Draco rolled his eyes and turned away. Potter was already looking in the same direction where Draco had been. </p><p>“Is that Zabini?” he asked. </p><p>“Yes,” Draco answered, surprised. “It’s his club—you know him?” </p><p>“Not <em>him</em> personally, but I know his mother through business.” </p><p>Draco's eyebrows shot up. Mrs Zabini wasn’t a random businesswoman who met just anyone, especially when she always preferred delegation. Potter must have some pull in his field and must be a bigger deal than Draco had initially assumed if he was doing business with her.  </p><p>“And who is the other one?” Potter gestured towards Theo. </p><p>“That’s Theodore. Theodore Nott.” </p><p>“Nott? From the law firm Malfoy Nott?” asked Potter, surprising Draco further. </p><p>Draco nodded, feeling a little uneasy at the mention of the Law firm. “Have you met?” He asked. </p><p>Potter frowned. “No, their firm is usually on the other side of the table. But I know <em>of</em> him.” He turned to Draco, “You know them?” </p><p>“They are my friends,” said Draco, “we are just having a night out.” </p><p>Potter narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing Draco with an unreadable expression on his face. And his next question made it clear why. “What did you say your name was again?” </p><p>Draco stiffened. He had stupidly let slip his associations, which didn't bode well if he wanted to avoid drawing attention to his identity. He was saved from answering when a hand slid around his waist. It was Theo, who had sneaked behind Draco without him noticing. </p><p>“Are you planning to ditch us for the night?” Theo asked, giving Draco a luscious smile. </p><p>“Oh, um, sorry. Let me just—” Draco turned to Potter to excuse himself. He hoped to part on friendly terms so that he could still keep an eye on him. </p><p>But Potter's expression had turned hard, his easy smile gone and replaced by the same shut-off business-like look that he usually carried. His piercing gaze was cold as it sized up Theo. </p><p>Draco felt a little disappointed at the change. He hesitated, “Mr Potter?” </p><p>Potter broke his gaze from Theo (who was looking down at Potter just as coldly) and tipped his glass. “Don’t mind me,” he said in a courteous but detached voice before turning away to ask the bartender for more ice. </p><p>The dismissal stung Draco more than be would care to admit. He got up. “Shall we?” </p><p>Theo, who had been staring daggers at the back of Potter's head, turned to Draco and grinned, “Sure.” </p><p>Then he slipped his hand in Draco's and pulled him to the dance floor. </p><p>**</p><p>Harry watched Draco leave with a sinking feeling in his stomach. The guy—Nott—looked over his shoulders and narrowed his eyes. Harry raised his glass and gave him a crooked, empty smile before turning away, not deigning the petty glaring match with his participation. </p><p>He ordered another drink and watched the pair dancing together, Draco’s hand around Theo's neck as they jumped and swayed to the music. </p><p>Without taking his eyes off Draco, Harry took a long swig of his drink, his throat numb to the burning sting of alcohol at this point. </p><p>Nott twirled Draco around before pushing him away, wrapping his arms around Draco from behind as he pulled him back. Draco, who seemed a little tipsy, faltered on his steps and stumbled back into Nott’s embrace before bursting into a fit of laughter. Nott looked thoroughly pleased with himself. Harry looked away. </p><p>He finished his drink in one quick gulp and got up. His head was pounding from the loud music, and his heart ached. Maybe the alcohol was finally hitting him. That was good. <em>Very</em> good. If he was lucky, he might even pass out and wake up when this whole nightmare was over. </p><p>Yes, that...that sounds good. That sounds <em>so</em> <em>good.</em> Just some mind-numbing liquor and then careless oblivion. Nothing more. No pain. No, nothing. Then he could wake up fresh and go back to his life, pretending that this day didn't exist, like always. Yes. </p><p>It didn't occur to him that he was alone, that there was no one to drop him back home. No one to ensure that he didn't overdo it and land himself in a hospital bed with alcohol poisoning. No one to make sure he didn't fall down the stairs or drive home drunk. </p><p>None of those things occurred to Harry. They all seemed like irrelevant details to his alcohol muddled brain. </p><p>He ordered another drink and left for the veranda.  He needed some air. </p><p>He didn’t see the troubled grey eyes that looked for him once he left; didn’t see the worried blond who had to be coaxed back into the celebration by his friends; didn’t see how the blond, on several intervals, kept pausing and craning his neck to peer in the corners for a glimpse of him before finally giving up. </p><p> </p><p>**</p><p> </p><p>Draco made his way to the veranda, pushing his fingers through his hair. It stuck from perspiration as if gelled back, a couple of strands falling in his eyes. He had been dancing and drinking non-stop for the past hour. </p><p>He leaned his elbows against the railing and breathed in. The cold air stung his warm cheeks and cleared the buzz of alcohol in his head. The ringing in his ears subsided, giving way to the peace and quiet of the night. </p><p>It was getting late. The establishments around the club had already turned out their lights and pulled down their shutters. The road looked dark and desolate, eerily still in it's silence. The traffic had thinned to almost nothing except for the cars parked around the club. A bunch of drunk people in vampire costumes passed by, singing and jeering as they crossed the road, hooting at the bouncers that were stationed outside the club. </p><p>He could see the silhouette of a man on the other side of the veranda but didn't pay much attention to him in favour of checking his pockets for a spare cigarette. He pulled it out and placed it between his lips before feeling his pockets for a lighter.  </p><p>“Looking for this?” A hand came up, offering a flaming lighter. Draco ducked his head and lit his cigarette before turning to look at the person attached to the generous hand. </p><p>It was a handsome man in his late 20’s, dressed in a casual but tasteful jacket over a plain T-shirt. He was a foot taller than Draco, with light brown hair that set off his deep blue eyes.</p><p>The man flashed a charming smile and stood next to Draco in the same position, their shoulders almost touching. </p><p>“What is someone like you doing all alone?” he said. “Which unlucky person lost the pleasure of your company?”</p><p>“No one,” Draco snorted at the obvious flattery. “Maybe you just got lucky.” </p><p>The man laughed. He wasn't offended. “Beautiful <em>and</em> witty.” He brought a hand up and touched the strand of hair that had fallen in Draco’s eyes, tucking it back. “Well, then maybe I should carry this lighter around more often. Looks like I found myself a lucky charm.” </p><p>Draco took another puff of his cigarette and faced the night sky again. They talked for a while. Random stuff, nothing major. </p><p>Initially, Draco was a little wary of talking to a stranger, but then he forced himself to dismiss his uneasiness. It was normal in a club. People got bolder and their tongues got looser after a few drinks. Everybody came here to have a nice evening where they could do away with regular propriety and indulge themselves. </p><p>A few months ago Draco wouldn't have given a second thought about chatting or casually flirting with a handsome stranger at a bar. But a lot has changed since then, and Draco had to make an effort to remind himself that it was okay, that he didn’t have to be so paranoid, that not everyone was like Justin. </p><p>The guy was blatantly flirting and did nothing to hide it. His self-assured confidence looked favourable rather than clingy. He had already stepped closer, there were lingering touches here and there as he joked around, all charmingly casual, but with the slight abandon and forwardness that came with the given atmosphere. </p><p>Every time Draco feared that the man would go too far, he wouldn't. He would reel-in himself and his jokes just at the right moment. Draco tried to reassure himself that he was being paranoid for nothing, that he was looking for something when there was none. It was all harmless. </p><p>After a while, Draco stopped paying close attention and relaxed. He was tipsy and was rather high on adrenalin and alcohol, so he didn’t mind much anyway. That was until the man leaned in and whispered in Draco's ear. </p><p>“Should we take this somewhere else?” He was so close that Draco could feel his warm breath against his neck. It was laced with the smell of whiskey and tobacco. </p><p>Draco pulled away, eyes wide. “I...I am sorry if I gave you the wrong impression but I don’t. . . I don't do <em>that</em>. . .not with a stranger. Sorry," he added hastily. </p><p>“Come on, darling, don’t break my heart. Just give me your number then, maybe we could pick this up later.” His lips curled, suddenly his smile wasn't charming anymore. “I won't be a stranger then.” </p><p>Draco’s insides twisted painfully. “I am not sure I am comfortable with that,” he said, glad that his voice didn't waver.  And he really wasn’t comfortable with giving out his number. The guy seemed pretty drunk now that Draco was clearheaded enough to notice, and Draco had no intention of getting involved in drunken nightly escapades with a stranger. </p><p>The guy pulled back. “Why not?!” he exclaimed loudly, making Draco flinch. Then he inhaled, deep and measured, as if reeling himself in so as not to lose his temper. It seemed like he was on the edge of his patience, and it would snap any second, Draco was sure of that. Draco's stomach churned, it was such a familiar look. Schooling his features into a careful expression, the man spoke conspiratorially. “Look, do you want money? </p><p>Draco's jaw dropped. “<em>Excuse me?!</em>” He couldn't believe his ears. </p><p>“How much do you want for a night, huh? I can pay.” The man was eyeing Draco hungrily, an eager, predatory look in his eyes that made Draco's skin crawl. </p><p>“I don’t—I am not—,” Draco spluttered, struggling to speak. “<em>I am not up for sale!</em>” He shouted, alarm bells ringing in his ears as the image of Justin's snarling face flashed before his eyes. <em>The way you dress Draco, you look like you are asking for it.</em></p><p>The man sneered, “Really?” He raked his eyes over Draco in a way that made him feel naked. “After being so provocative, you are telling me you don't want it?” </p><p>The resemblance of his words with Justin's was so sickening that Draco wanted to throw up. </p><p>“I have to go," Draco said hastily, ready to bolt.  </p><p>“Don’t play hard to get!” the man snapped. Grabbing Draco’s hand, he pushed him against the railing. </p><p>“What the—!” </p><p>He pressed his body against Draco, his arms gripping the railing on either side of Draco's waist, trapping him. </p><p>Draco felt panic rising up his throat, and he struggled like a caged animal but in vain. He felt helpless, even if he shouted, no one inside would hear him over the blaring music and the noise of plastered people dancing. </p><p>This was not good, Draco thought frantically. This was too familiar. Too scary. Drunk man pressing against him. Towering over him. Forcing himself upon him, crushing him. It was like Draco had just walked into his worst memory. </p><p>“You think you can rile me up and then leave me hanging, huh?” the man grunted, grabbing Draco’s hips, his grip so painful that Draco was sure it would leave bruises. Raw terror gripped Draco’s heart, so tight that he choked on it. He couldn't breathe! </p><p>The stench of alcohol. </p><p>The warm scalding breath of his assaulter on his lips.</p><p>The nauseating smell of their cologne mixed with sweat. </p><p>The sharp pain in his back where the railing dug into his skin. </p><p>The claws clutching his hips. </p><p>The claustrophobic weight of the other man against his body.  </p><p>
  <em>He couldn't breathe, he couldn't move! </em>
</p><p>Draco whimpered and tried to push the man away, but his arms weighed like a ton, heavy with lead and throbbing with the fear that coursed through his veins. In that moment Draco was back in the restroom. With Justin. In that tiny filthy stall which reeked of urine and cleaning acid and vomit. His back pressed against a cold tiled wall. Struggling and crying out, desperately scratching at his lover who had turned into Draco's worst nightmare.</p><p>Draco had kicked and screamed and fought, only to have his voice muffled by a big sweaty hand clamping down on his mouth and nose. The hand had smelled of cheap beer and chemicals before Draco had passed out from the lack of air. </p><p>Nothing had saved him then, and nothing would save him now. </p><p>Draco was pulled back to reality when he felt the telltale swell of a hard-on against his pelvis. He gagged, barely swallowing down the bile that rose up his throat and clogged it, making it even more difficult to breathe. His eyes watered. </p><p>“Let me go. You are...you are hurting me...” He cried, but his voice was barely audible and cracking at the end. He couldn’t breathe. His chest tightened painfully and his breathing became shallow. It felt like his lungs were being crushed. He couldn’t breathe!</p><p>Draco tried to push the man away again, but he was too strong, too big, too drunk. He was older and more muscular than Draco and his weight was a hard concrete stone against Draco's body. </p><p>The man buried his face in Draco’s neck, and Draco's knees buckled as his lungs almost gave out. He shut his eyes tight, a tear rolling down his cheek. His head felt lighter as dark spots clouded at the corners of his vision. As Draco felt the last of his consciousness slipping, he made one last feeble attempt to push the man away—</p><p>And the miracle happened. Suddenly the weight was gone, someone had pulled the man away and whirled him around, wrenching him away from Draco. </p><p>Draco gasped, breathing hard as if he had just surfaced out of the water and was taking desperate lungfuls of air. Clutching his chest, he looked up for his saviour. </p><p>It was Potter. Standing tall, with a cold, disgusted look on his face as he stared down at the man with contempt. </p><p>“What the hell do you think you’re doing!” shouted the man threateningly at Potter. </p><p>Potter didn't even flinch, for all the world he looked almost bored as he stood with a hand casually in his pocket. The only thing that betrayed his anger was the way his jaw was set in a hard line. “You heard the guy,” he said icily, “he told you to let go.”</p><p>“Get lost kid!” The man spat. “Mind your own business!”  </p><p>Potter cocked an eyebrow, “I am. The guy you just molested...he makes my coffee. And<em> I</em>, for one, happen to like that coffee very much.”</p><p>The man scoffed derisively and turned back to Draco as if he had just dismissed a nuisance and was eager to get back to what he was doing before he had been so rudely interrupted. He reached for Draco. </p><p>“You don’t want to do that,” Potter said darkly, his voice low with venom. “I am drunk and angry, and itching to beat the hell out of you, so if I start, I won't stop.”</p><p>The man’s nostrils flared. He whirled around and lunged at Potter, swinging his arm and sending Potter's spectacles flying to the ground. Potter swayed, and Draco remembered how drunk Potter had been earlier. Before Potter could steady himself, the man grabbed him by the collar and pulled him up. “Listen, you son of a bitch! If you want to play then run to your daddy for your own toy, got it? This one is mine.” </p><p>“He’s your what?” Potter laughed, dark and disbelieving. He ran a hand through his hair and shook his head, “You sick bastard, you shouldn’t have said that.”</p><p>And before the guy could react, Potter grabbed the hand holding his collar, pulled it free, reeled his fist back and swung it, punching the man square in his face. Draco made a surprised sound at the back of his throat. </p><p>As the man stumbled back, Potter kneed him right in his crotch and he doubled over in pain. Then, grabbing the man with the scruff of his neck, Potter twisted his arm behind his back and bent him over the railing, face down.  </p><p>Leaning forward, Potter spoke, his voice betraying his rage for the first time. “The next time you touch someone without their consent, remember how close you were to losing your balls,” he warned, “Because it’s taking everything in me not to crush them right now.” </p><p>The man twisted and glared at Potter, only to wince and flinch away when Potter tightened his grip. Writhing and flailing, the pervert tried to break free and for a second it looked like Potter would punch him again, for good.</p><p>A wounded, pathetic whimper escaped Draco's throat as he stood paralysed in the corner, petrified by the sheer violence he had just witnessed. His eyes were wide as he stared at the brawling men, feeling oddly numb and shaken. He was still reeling from the shock of the entire ordeal and his body shook all over. </p><p>Potter stopped at the sound and looked over at Draco, and, as if finally coming back to himself, the fury in his smouldering green eyes died down, going out like a light. He must have seen something in Draco's face because his hard expression melted away and his grip on his captive slackened.  </p><p>Just then, the door burst open and Blaise, Pansy, and Theo rushed out in various states of alarm.</p><p>“What the—” Theo started, his eyes landing on Draco’s trembling form. He immediately pulled Draco into a hug. “Christ, Draco, are you alright?” Draco nodded, unable to speak as he buried his face in Theo's shoulder. “I was so worried, we couldn’t find you anywhere, where did you go?” Theo pulled away, “Dear god, look at you, you are white as a sheet!”</p><p>Draco’s eyes flitted to Potter, who threw the man to the floor. The man scrambled away, half falling, half stumbling as he made to escape like a vermin. Potter picked up his glasses from the floor and tsked, they were broken. He put them away in his pocket, letting his hand stay there. There was a scratch on his temple which was bleeding, just at the corner of his eyebrow where his glasses must have cut him, but he didn’t seem to notice. </p><p>Blaise, Pansy, and Theo watched, incredulous at Potter's easy demeanour. Noticing their slack-jawed faces, Potter looked away. As if just realising the severity of the situation, he rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “I warned him that I was drunk,” he muttered.</p><p>“What the hell happened here!?” Pansy exclaimed. “Draco?” </p><p>Draco shrunk back into himself, wrapping his arms tightly around his stomach as he dropped his eyes in shame. He felt so pathetic and humiliated. That guy was molesting him and Draco just stood there and let him, he just took it like some. . . like some. . . He shivered, terrified of what would have happened if Potter hadn’t interfered. </p><p>Warmth engulfed Draco and he looked up, Potter had pulled off his jacket and was wrapping it around Draco's shoulder. Draco's lips parted in surprise, but before he could protest, Potter turned him around. </p><p>“Your shirt is torn,” he mumbled, not meeting Draco's eyes as he adjusted the collar. Draco hadn't even realised when his shirt had ripped off in the struggle. </p><p>Potter glanced up and for a second Draco caught the glimpse of something soft, almost tender in his concerned eyes, as if, only for a fleeting moment, his hard exterior had cracked to give Draco a peek at what lay under the surface. But before Draco could see any more, the look was gone and Potter pulled away, so quick that Draco wondered if had imagined it. </p><p>“You don’t have to—” Draco started, pulling off the jacket, but Potter caught his wrist. </p><p>“Keep it, it’s cold out here.” His voice was soft but it bore no argument. He hesitated for a moment, then stepped back, brushing imaginary dust off his sleeves. “Handle your place, Zabini, it's crawling with cockroaches,” he said, not looking up from the cuffs he was readjusting as he turned to leave. </p><p>“Thank you.”</p><p>Potter stopped at Draco's tremulous voice and looked over his shoulder. He gave Draco a long, heavy look. Then slowly, as if unsure, the corner of his mouth lifted into the tiniest hint of a small, reassuring smile. </p><p>The warmth that spread through Draco’s chest at the rare sight soothed his hassled frazzled nerves.  </p><p>Just as Potter was about to leave, Theo halted him with a hand on his shoulder. “I am watching you.” He hissed. </p><p>Potter shrugged him off. “Yeah? Is that why you failed to look out for your friend there who just got felt up against his will?” </p><p>“Watch your mouth!” </p><p>“Theo!” Pansy admonished. </p><p>“<em>I'm</em> not the one busy playing the bully when someone clearly needs me,” Potter said shortly. “Some advice, Theodore? If you want to pretend like you care about him, then at least do the act right.” And with that, he left. </p><p>Theo made to follow him, but Blaise stopped him.</p><p>“Don’t,” Blaise warned. “Don’t mess with the guy, Theo. He is no joke.” </p><p>“Who the hell does he think he is!?”  </p><p>Blaise shushed him and frantically looked over his shoulders to check if the veranda was empty. Then he dropped his voice and said quietly. “That’s Harry Potter.” </p><p>Pansy's hand flew to her mouth. “<em>Harry Potter?</em> You mean <em>The</em> Harry Potter? From Peverell Industries?”  </p><p>Blaise nodded. “That guy is everything a businessman wants to be.” </p><p>“<em>Damn, boy</em>”  Pansy whistled lowly, dragging out the word. “I thought he would be much older. He is—<em>what</em>?—like 27?”</p><p>“24 actually,” Blaise corrected. </p><p>“And he is <em>hot.” </em></p><p>“I don’t care if he owns all of fucking London!” Theo burst out. </p><p>“What’s your problem?” said Blaise exasperatedly. “Do you want to see my place shut down? Mum would kill me if I messed with him.” </p><p>“Plus, he actually helped Draco,” Pansy pointed out. </p><p>Theo hesitated, his eyes flitting to Draco who was standing quietly in the corner, staring at his shoes and not looking at anyone. “Yes, well, he doesn’t have to be such a prick about it,” Theo grumbled, conceding at last.  </p><p>“You’re just jealous,” said Pansy. </p><p>“What?”</p><p>“Nothing, let's get Draco inside, shall we?” Pansy turned to Draco and her eyes softened, “you okay there, sweetie?” </p><p>Draco jumped as she addressed him, he had forgotten that they were there. Swallowing, he nodded, wrapping the coat tighter around himself. It had a faint fragrance of spicy cologne and the lingering smell of alcohol, and something else, something fresh and frosty, like lemon or menthol, Draco couldn’t quite place it. He had an insane urge to pull the collar up to his nose and inhale deeply until he felt safe again. </p><p>They made it back inside and Blaise left to get the security to deal with the man appropriately. Pansy fussed over him, apologising again and again. “I shouldn't have insisted on it. You were right, clubbing was a bad idea, especially after—oh my god, Draco, I am so sorry.” </p><p>Draco tried to reassure her that he was fine. ‘Just a little shaken.’ She wasn’t convinced at all, and it was ultimately decided that they should all leave together for a quiet sleepover at her place.   </p><p>They settled in a secluded booth while they waited for Blaise to give out the necessary instructions to the manager. Meanwhile, Pansy had found an old acquaintance and was talking to her after inviting her to sit with them, which gave Draco the necessary reprieve from her fussing. Instead of making him feel better her worrying only succeeded in making Draco feel guilty and embarrassed. He felt terrible for ruining the night for everyone. </p><p>On top of that, his mind kept bombarding him with unwanted images from his past or kept inventing one horrifying scenario after another that could have become a reality if Potter hadn't been there to stop it. Draco felt sicker and sicker and more nauseous by the second. </p><p>The voice in his head kept saying that it was his fault. All his fault. That he should have known better than to talk to a stranger. That he should have known better than to let his guard down. That he should have known better than to relax and dance and drink when he knew what it could lead to. But no! He had to go and enjoy and play the careless idiot who got himself in trouble until someone decided to--! </p><p>Draco stopped himself. He was spiralling again. It was the same vicious cycle that had eaten away at Draco's life for the last few months. He clenched his fists and tried to breathe, slow and deep and measured, then tried to focus on the people around him to stop his mind from turning inwards.  </p><p>Theo sat stiffly in the corner, glaring around the place and looking sulky. Now and then both Pansy and Theo glanced worriedly at Draco and asked if he needed something. </p><p>Draco declined and simply sat quietly, staring at his hands in his lap, lost in thoughts which were hovering around his brain like murky water, prepared to drown him. </p><p>Suddenly Theo got up, “I will go get our jackets, no need for you to keep wearing that, it's totally ruining your look.” </p><p>Draco had totally forgotten about his own jacket which he had left at the bar where they had been serving. He looked down at the warm suit jacket he was wearing and started pulling it off, he didn't want to wrinkle it. Taking that as a sign, Theo left. </p><p>That was when Draco noticed something heavy in the pocket of the jacket. He frowned, putting his hand inside, and his eyes widened. It was Potter’s phone, he had forgotten to take it with him. </p><p>Draco pulled it out and the screen lit up. It was locked, but the notifications showed a new text from...Colin Creevey? Draco narrowed his eyes. Colin was the guy who had worked at Butterbrew before Draco and had left because he had gotten an internship at his dream place. </p><p><em>‘Mr. Potter,’ </em>read the text<em>, “I just wanted to thank you for getting me that interview with The Prophet. They loved my work. I could not have gotten this without your help. I am starting on—” </em>the rest was hidden until one unlocked the phone. </p><p>Draco raised an eyebrow. No wonder Colin made him a special brew, Potter seemed like a kind person. The thought brought a fond smile on Draco's face.</p><p>His eyes landed on the lock screen. It was a picture of a boy in his late teens playing a video game, a controller in his hands. Thick hoody and messy, untrimmed hair sticking out of his beanie, sitting on a couch. It was Potter. A much younger, messier, and softer version of Potter, all chubby cheeks and innocent features. And in his arms was a baby, its tiny head resting against Potter’s chest, sound asleep with its little thumb in its mouth. And Potter, although his eyes were looking ahead, probably on a screen, was kissing the top of the baby’s head. </p><p>There was something so raw and tender about the picture. A vulnerable Harry, playing like any normal teenager and wearing casuals, which was somehow really difficult to imagine the older Potter to be wearing. It was so simple, but the tenderness with which he was holding the sleeping infant and was unconsciously kissing the top of its head as if taking comfort and reassurance in the presence of the baby, told a story which Draco yearned to hear. </p><p>The mental image of a teenage Harry babysitting this baby, probably his baby brother, while trying to play video games, was just so...so...<em>domestic</em>....and <em>loving</em> that it stirred something in Draco's chest. </p><p>The corner of Draco’s mouth twitched into a smile. There was something amusing about the fact that Mr Potter, who seemed so cold and forbidden, had such a personal picture as his lock screen. Draco had expected something plain, something simple and cliché to be Potter’s wallpaper. Like a car, or his own picture in his office, or some motivational quote, but he hadn’t expected <em>this</em>--something that left Potter exposed to the naked eyes. </p><p>Potter probably never expected to lose it to a stranger. The picture seemed almost from an alternative universe, or from another time and place. A place which was now probably buried deep inside Potter, a place whose glimpse Draco had seen earlier for a few moments out on the veranda. At the time Draco had wondered if he had only imagined it, now it was like he was looking at the proof of a tender side to this steely and unapproachable man. </p><p>Draco’s musing was interrupted when the phone buzzed, it occurred to him that he should probably go looking for Potter to return it to him. Draco had been so caught up in staring at the picture that the thought had totally slipped his mind.   </p><p>The call disconnected and the screen flashed again.</p><p>Draco frantically looked around but Potter was nowhere in sight. The phone stopped vibrating and a series of messages started showing up on the screen in quick succession. They all had a tone of worried urgency to them.</p><p>
  <em>Harry, where are you? </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Please, pick up the phone!</em>
</p><p>
  <em>At least reply, damn it! </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Pup, we are getting really worried now, you haven’t called. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>We checked the cemeteries, both of them, you weren’t there. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Tell us you are okay, please. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Harry, Siri is getting really worried, and Teddy has been asking for you. Just give us a call back when you get this. </em>
</p><p>When the third time the phone buzzed and a caller I'd flashed on the screen, Draco got up. “I’ll be back.” </p><p>Pansy looked at him questioningly, already standing up, “where are you going?”</p><p>Draco shook his head and gestured for her to stay. “It’s okay, I just need to take this call,” he said and left before she could protest, picking up the phone. </p><p>“Hello, Harry?” said a relieved voice from the other side, but before Draco could reply, it frantically continued, “<em>Thank god, you picked up!</em> Where are you? Sirius is going crazy with worry, and Ron said you aren’t with him—forget it. Just come home—Teddy is—”</p><p>“Hello,” interrupted Draco, haltingly. </p><p>There was a pause. Then, “You are not Harry.” The relief was instantly replaced by trepidation.</p><p>“Yes, uh—I am—” what? Harry’s friend? What was he supposed to say? “I am Draco, sir, I work at Butterbrew?” He was unsure whether it was the right thing to say. </p><p>“Where is Harry?” </p><p>“Harry...uh...he forgot his cellphone with me. There was an incident. I am looking for him right now.” </p><p>“He is not with you?” </p><p>“...No? He just left, I think.” </p><p>“He left? Okay, good, who is with him? Is he alone?”</p><p>“He was alone when I last saw him, but I don’t—” </p><p>There was some shuffling on the other side, drawers closing, clothes rustling, keys rattling. “Okay, I am coming. Butterbrew, you said? I will be right there. Meanwhile, please look for Harry—”</p><p>“Sir,” Draco said carefully, feeling a little wary. “We are not—Potter was not at Butterbrew.” </p><p>There was a pause, “Oh. . .Where are you then? Where was he?” </p><p>“At this club near—”</p><p>“He was at a <em>club?!” </em>The person exclaimed. “Was he drinking?” </p><p>Draco's stomach dropped. “Shit!” It suddenly occurred to him how grave this situation was. The other man understood it too. </p><p>“<em>Dear lord!” </em>Then the man called for someone in the background and Draco heard him asking, “Babe, did Harry take his driver with him?—<em>He didn’t!?” </em>Then the voice came back on the line. “So let me get this straight: My son is alone without his phone in the middle of the night and he is probably <em>wasted?”</em></p><p>Draco swallowed as something cold gripped his heart. </p><p>“Fucking Christ! Every year! <em>Every fucking year at Halloween</em>!” The man seemed to be muttering to himself. He sounded frantic with worry and agitation, and Draco couldn’t blame him. “Okay. At least tell me where you are, send me a location, I’ll be there.” </p><p>“Sir, you don’t have to,” said Draco, trying to sound reassuring. “I am just going to look for Harry and I will give you a call as soon as I find him.” </p><p>“And am I supposed to just trust you? For all I know you could be a thief who just mugged my son—oh my god, what if something happened to him!—he can’t even—”</p><p>“Sir, please, calm down. Harry will be fine, trust me.” The man still seemed doubtful and sceptical. </p><p>It took a lot of convincing on Draco’s part—who was already checking all the corners in the club as he talked on the phone—to reassure the man. Finally, his desperation to find his son won and he decided to trust Draco to find Harry, only after Draco gave him his number and address to check up on them later, to make sure that he had found Harry and that he was okay. </p><p>Draco gave him his number and address, it was the only possible solution to keep the man updated since Draco wouldn't be able to reach him from Harry's phone, as it was locked. And the man seemed genuinely anxious and scared for his son.</p><p>By this time Draco had already realised that Potter wasn’t in the club, and went outside to look for him. Clutching the phone in his hand, he stepped into the night, his heart hammering in his chest. The cold air ruffled his hair and hit his cheeks like merciless needles. He pulled the jacket tighter around himself, belatedly remembering that he was still wearing Harry's. </p><p>Harry had been drunk, he had been angry, and he was alone and it was late. The man had just helped Draco and forgotten his phone in the process, Draco would never forgive himself if something happened to him. Not tonight. </p><p>He frantically ran across the pavement, checking the alleys and peeking inside cars, just in case Harry was sitting in any of them. </p><p>By the time he reached the end of the block, he was panting, bent over with his hands on his knees. His heart was thundering in his chest and his eyes stung. He sniffed and stood up, gulping. Potter was nowhere to be found. For some reason, Draco wanted to cry in frustration. This was a terrible night!</p><p>He was about to turn around and go looking in another direction when he heard a scuffling sound, followed by a slosh of liquid and a tinkle of glass against cement and the high pitched sound of a car locking and unlocking. His eyes landed on a black Aston Martin parked across the street. Surely it couldn't be...</p><p>Holding his breath, Draco stepped around the car almost jumping out his skin when the car locked and unlocked again. What in the world— </p><p>And then Draco saw him. His heart broke. </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Sweet Nothings</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Just some fluff! </p><p>Also, I know I know I have been scarce but my exams are just around the corner so I hope You forgive me for my laziness. </p><p>HAPPY READING!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Harry took another gulp of his whiskey. Whiskey? Scotch? He didn’t even care at this point as he stared blankly at the closed shutter of the shop in front of him. He was sitting on the ground, leaning back against his car with a bottle resting on his folded knee as he pressed the buttons on the remote of his car keys to lock and unlock it. Again and again. His vision blurred, whether because of his broken glasses or the alcohol, he didn't know. Probably alcohol. Although, no matter how much he drank he didn’t seem to forget, to finally feel drunk enough to lose himself and pass out.</p><p>He had been trying to pass out for a while now, even though nothing seemed to work, all he kept feeling was heavier at heart, lighter in the head and unsteady on his feet. He was so lost that he didn’t even hear the approaching footsteps, or the sharp intake of breath until a shadow loomed over him and soft cold hands were cupping his face.</p><p>Harry blinked and a pale, angelic face came into focus. Draco was crouched over him, knees on the rough ground and soft, gentle hands holding Harry's face and peering into his eyes.</p><p>Those eyes, Draco’s eyes. <em>Or was it an angel who has finally come to ease his pain? Has he finally managed to drink himself to oblivion and passed out to a place where Draco was looking at him with such tenderness that it made Harry's heartache? If his heart wasn’t already shattered, it would have broken all over again. </em></p><p>Tentative fingers brushed his hair from his forehead, giving Harry a clearer view and Harry's breath hitched.</p><p>Draco’s face was flushed, eyes glassy like clear lake water. His skin shown under the moonlight from perspiration and glittery highlighter; his eye-liner a little messed up. His hair was sticking to his forehead, most of it pushed back as if gelled from the moist of labour. His lips were flushed red from biting and the sting of alcohol, pink as a cherry, and his cheeks were blushed up like a baby from exhilaration and panic. <em>Panic from what?—</em>Harry didn't know, but Draco's eyes certainly looked frantic.</p><p><em>His eyes</em>...Harry thought...<em>his eyes though...</em>They were shining—sparkling like the ocean reflecting stars of the night sky. Stormy, deep, endless, and alive.<em> So alive</em>.</p><p>Draco looked like a complete mess as he held Harry’s face in his small cold hands and looked at him with worried silver eyes, but <em>dear god</em>, <em>he was a beautiful mess</em>! Like a glorious sword after a battle, worn and bloody, but victorious nonetheless. Harry would happily drop to death on it.</p><p><em>Wow, rather poetic when drunk, aren’t I?</em> Harry thought, amused at himself before his heart twisted with guilt as he realised that he was thinking of another man like this on the day when he should be grieving Ric. His amusement quickly turned to anger.</p><p>“What are you doing here?” Harry snapped, although it came out rather hoarse and torn.</p><p>Draco sniffed, stroking Harry's cheek with the pad his thumb, he gently tilted Harry's head to the side to get a better look at his wound.</p><p>“I am so sorry,” Draco whispered softly, his voice tremulous as he traced the bleeding brow with a shaking hand. “What did he do to you.”</p><p>Harry looked away, “S’okay. It’s just a scratch, I’ll be fine.”. He didn’t want to worry Draco. Something inside Harry told him to pull away from Draco, protesting against the soothing touch on his feverish skin where they touched. But another part of him wanted that hand to stay there. Just a little longer. It wanted Draco to pull him close and hold him tight. <em>Just for a little while, </em>it begged, <em>so that he didn't have to take this anymore...bear this lonely hollow feeling anymore.</em></p><p>Draco shook his head. “You are bleeding...and—and it’s my fault.” He bit his lip, his eyes becoming suspiciously moist.  “I am so stupid, I shouldn’t have come here at all--" his voice cracked and he covered his face with his hands.</p><p>Harry immediately missed his touch on his cheeks. The thought filled him with guilt and he loathed himself for craving another man's touch, which was surprising considering Harry had slept with so many people after he had lost Ric 7 years ago on this very day, seen him held down against his parent’s grave and beaten to death in front of his eyes. But he had never felt guilt like this before—the guilt that he was feeling now from the mere thought of Draco touching him. He didn’t know why. Maybe because this was the first time Harry actually wanted and craved that touch and that <em>want</em> made him detest himself. He felt disgusted at his own depravity. How dare he think about someone else when his heart still belonged to Ric? He had promised it to Ric forever, hadn't he?</p><p>But his guilt didn't stand a chance when he heard a sob escape Draco's throat.</p><p>“Hey,” Harry said softly. But Draco just shook his head, his shoulders shaking. Harry tucked a smooth strand of hair behind Draco’s ear, prompting him to look up. When he didn't, Harry let go of the whiskey to pry his hands away from his face, holding them tightly in his. They were so small that Harry's hands covered them completely. Finally, Draco looked up from under his eyelashes.</p><p>“It’ll be fine, I promise,” Harry said. He had no idea <em>what</em> would be fine, but he was too drunk to process that. All he knew that whatever it was, Harry would <em>make it fine </em>to wipe those tears away.</p><p>Instead of looking reassured Draco looked horrified as his eyes widened. He pulled Harry's hand closer and turned it over. They were raw and bruised, the redness standing out against his skin.</p><p>“I am so sorry,” Draco repeated, tentatively tracing his knuckles with a feather-light touch. Harry hissed and Draco snatched his hand away.</p><p>Harry smiled wryly. “It’s okay. Don't apologise. It wasn't your fault.” He said, wanting Draco to believe him. “In fact, look--" and he fisted his hand and then opened it again as if demonstrate. “it doesn’t even hurt. And it was totally worth it, that dick deserved it anyway.”</p><p>Draco gave a watery laugh and roughly wiped his tears. “Yeah, let's not do that again, please.”</p><p>“I gave it to you to wear it you know,” Harry said, pointing at the jacket which was tucked under Draco's arm. He was a little disappointed that Draco wasn't wearing it.</p><p>Draco looked down and blushed. “You should take it back, I don't want to ruin it.”</p><p>“Just wear it, you’ll catch a cold at this rate.”</p><p>“And you won't?”</p><p>“I have this baby to keep me warm.” Harry brandished the bottle that he had been drinking from.</p><p>Draco frowned. “Right. No more of that for you,” he said flatly and took the bottle from Harry. “You have had too much already.”</p><p>“But I am <em>stroonnnggggng</em>,” Harry whined and Draco rolled his eyes. The audacity!</p><p>“Of course you are,” Draco drawled, “you even saved me from the big bad bully. Now come on, let's get you home, someone is really worried about you.”</p><p>Harry crossed his arms over his chest, “No!”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“I said no. Not until you wear the jacket.”</p><p>Draco huffed and shook his head in exasperation, but there was a fond smile on his face as he pulled on the jacket—Harry’s jacket, somehow that thought made Harry feel very pleased.  </p><p>“Happy?” Draco asked in a tone which Harry had only seen Remus using with Teddy when he was finally giving in to one of his son's whims. “<em>Now</em>, will you come with me?”</p><p>Harry bit his lip, pretending to think, then nodded with a laugh when Draco smacked his arm lightly.</p><p> </p><p>**</p><p> </p><p>Twenty minutes later Draco found himself watching as Potter scooped up another dollop of ice-cream on his spoon before putting it in his mouth.</p><p>Draco had been hesitant to drive at first, Potter's car was expensive and Draco was afraid to damage it, it’s been months since he sat behind the wheel. And also because he was drunk, but that had been a non-issue. By the time he had found Potter slouched on the ground against his Aston Martin and managed to get him into the car, Draco had found himself more alert and clear-headed than ever. Nothing like getting molested at a bar and losing your drunk saviour to sober you up, he thought sardonically.</p><p>The car's navigator was password-protected, just like Potter's phone, and Potter was in no condition to activate it—the idiot had giggled for minutes, typing in the wrong password again and again before Draco had to stop him from completely shutting down the system by entering the wrong password one too many times. Taking that as his cue Draco decided to take the man to his own tiny flat for the night, at he would be safe that way. Draco was apprehensive about letting a stranger into his flat, especially a drunk man who could put down Draco with his bare hands. But he couldn't bring himself to leave Potter unattended either, especially not after how panicked his guardian had sounded on the phone. And Potter didn't seem the type to attack Draco. Right?</p><p>With that, Draco had sucked it up, gathered all his courage, buckled Potter in the passenger seat with some coaxing, and started to drive on his way home, with Potter sitting next to him with his nose pressed against the glass of the window as he watched the street pass by.</p><p>Now the car was parked under the blinking and buzzing banner of Fortescue’s 24/7 ice-cream, Potter had stubbornly insisted on having one, and the pout and the puppy eyes he had given Draco were criminal. Draco was powerless against it.</p><p>So now Draco sat facing Potter with his elbow resting on the steering wheel and his cheek resting against his palm as he watched Potter digging into his ice-cream.</p><p>It was difficult to imagine that this man, with chocolate smudged across his cheeks and lips as he ate ice-cream with a goofy grin on his face, was the same person who had pinned down a man twice his size with a single hand. That <em>this</em> guy, whose face lit up like a child on Christmas when Draco handed him his cup of extra Choco vanilla was the same guy who had drowned whiskey like water and had the cold and piercing stare resembling the blade of a sword. Back then Potter had looked formidable and frightening, now he just looked so small, young and defenceless that Draco felt the same protectiveness rise up in him again. The feeling was almost becoming familiar now.</p><p>It was difficult to reconcile the two contrasting images, and Draco—for some bizarre reason that he would rather not contemplate—was glad that he was here to witness them both. He was thoroughly enjoying this other, much softer, drunk side of Potter. Who would have thought that the brooding and reserved Mr Potter was a childish drunk? Draco was grateful to be present when Potter was so vulnerable. He did not like the thought of someone else or some other stranger seeing Potter like this.</p><p>But regardless of how harmless Potter looked in that moment, Draco could not bring himself to forget the man with the sharp feathers and hard eyes. That strength was still very much obvious in his firm forearms and the way his shirt strained just a little on his biceps. Potter was in no way beefy or muscular, he was rather on the leaner side, but his athletic build and light muscles were quite obvious even through his shirt. His stomach was flat and toned from the way his shirt hugged his body perfectly. Draco wondered if Potter had a workout regime, and suddenly an unbidden image of Potter doing pull-ups flashed into his mind, all sweat-soaked and straining. Draco swallowed, berating his mind for going into the gutter he shook his head and quickly dismissed the image.</p><p>Tilting the cup, Potter peered inside with furrowed brows, looking pleased when he found there was still some ice cream left at the bottom. Legs bouncing with excitement, he gathered more on his spoon and put it in his mouth, eyelids falling shut as he hummed. Opening his eyes, he caught Draco staring at him and extended his arm, offering a spoon full of ice-cream with his sticky fingers.</p><p>Draco smiled at the innocent gesture—it was ridiculously endearing—and shook his head fondly to decline the offer. Potter shrugged and immersed himself into prying more ice-cream from the cup. Draco looked away to avoid staring at the man any more than what was polite and busied himself with looking at the buttons and dials on the car, admiring its sleek black polished design and curves, it’s been months, more than a year since Draco sat in one of these. He never really paid much attention to the cars he used when he lived with his father and was chaperoned around, it was only when he left that he started noticing them...</p><p>His eyes landed on a bouquet of fresh white lilies that was lying on the dashboard. What an odd choice of flowers for a date, he thought. Is that why Potter was so upset and was drinking all alone? Was he stood up by his date? Or did he have a falling-out with a lover? The thought of a lover didn't sit well with Draco, especially considering how miserable Potter looked. What must have happened to leave the man like this?</p><p>“Who are these for?” he asked, trying to sound nonchalant as he picked up the bouquet to examine it closely. It was exquisite, there was no doubt about that.</p><p>Potter looked up and blinked, pulling out the spoon from his mouth with a pop. “It’s for my parents, or was. It’s their death anniversary today,” he added, as it was some mundane detail about the weather, and went back to squinting into the cup, mumbling, “or was it yesterday? What time is it…”</p><p>Draco's lips parted and he kept the flowers back on the dash. The whole evening suddenly made a lot more sense. “How did it,” he hesitated, then asked softly, “what happened?”</p><p>Potter dropped his hands, giving up on finding more ice-cream, and smacked his lips as if in thought, “Car crash,” he shrugged, then he looked at Draco before looking down at the cup. “Don't look at me like that, I was four, it’s been 20 years so it’s fine...I am kind of used to it by now.”</p><p>“No one ever gets used to it,” he said quietly. Potter didn't reply anything to that. Draco didn't expect him too. He could not even begin to imagine what it must be like to grow up without parents. Draco had also lost his parents recently, in a way, but his circumstances were different. Draco's parents were still alive, still there, and he could go back to them if he chose to, or at least he could console himself with the delusion of choice. But even then Draco missed his parents a lot, and he felt grateful that at least he had so many years of happiness and love and pampering from them.</p><p>Draco stared at the bouquet and wondered how lonely it must be to watch the world celebrate as you felt nothing but loss. Potter said that it’s been years. Draco knew that he meant it as a reassurance, but somehow it seemed sadder to imagine a much younger version of Potter being left alone in this world.</p><p>Did he have anybody to the turn to? Somebody to hold him and look out for him? Was he lonely? Did he cry for weeks and months, unable to understand where his parents disappeared to? Four is such a tender age to be burdened by the stain of death, to be forced to understand what it meant and what it entailed.</p><p> “Why didn't you drop these?” Draco asked, gesturing to the lilies.</p><p>Potter shrugged. “Couldn't.” He didn't elaborate any further and Draco didn't pry. “Are you going to eat that?” Potter asked suddenly, pointing at the still packed ice-cream cup that Draco had gotten for himself. Draco shook his head and opened it for Potter, who dug in with fervour as if the previous conversation had never happened.</p><p>It was silent for a while, with nothing but the scratch of the plastic spoon against a paper-cup or the occasional smack of lips. Draco drummed his fingers against the steering wheel, humming a low tune under his breath as he stared at the streetlamp outside. The silence was broken when Potter spoke.</p><p>“My mother loved Halloween, you know,” he said, his voice just above a whisper. Draco was surprised at the revelation but didn't interrupt, listening quietly as Potter continued. “All the sweets...the adorable kids in costumes...she loved to see them all happy, always made sure we had all kinds of sweets so that we can give out plenty. And my dad?” he laughed softly. “He had the craziest costume ideas, but always in pairs, never the single ones.”</p><p>“With your mum?”</p><p>Potter’s lips quirked into a wry smile, his expression turning distant as if he was already playing out the memory in his mind. He shook his head. “No. He paired them with me. There are photo-albums full of it. Batman and Robin, Sherlock and Watson. And I always got to be the cool guy, and he was always the sidekick. He loved going trick or treating with me.” His eyes turned glassy and he sniffed, blinking back the tears. “That Halloween was no different. We were on our way to my godfathers' house like we did every year.” He picked at the corners of the paper cup as he talked. “I don't remember much apart from creating a fuss. There was a lot of screaming—and crying and. . .I was the only one that survived.” Draco inhaled sharply. “Sometimes I wonder if it was all the crying that distracted dad...If it was my fault that they—” his voice cracked and he swallowed. Putting the empty cup on the dashboard he breathed in loudly and looked out of the window, his fists clenched in his lap.</p><p>Draco’s heart tugged at the sight and a lump formed in his throat. He wanted to pull Potter close, to hold him tightly and ease all his pain. Anything to wipe that look from his face. Instead, he took Potters hands and wiped the chocolate off his fingers with a napkin. He was aware that Potter was watching him, but he focused all his attention on what he was doing. He cleaned one hand, then the other, and once it was done, he turned Potter's hand in his and entwined there fingers together before slowly lifting his head to meet his eyes.</p><p>Potter’s expression was open as he stared back at Draco with wide green eyes. He looked completely raw and naked. Draco felt the irrational urge to hide him away from the world, to protect this vulnerable person so that no harm could touch him.</p><p>Instead, Draco squeezed his hand and gave him a weak smile. The pearly tears that were precariously hanging from Potter's dark eyelashes, threatening to spill, finally gave way. Draco brought his free hand up to gently wipe those tears away with the cuffs of his sleeve and cupped his jaw.</p><p>“You were just a child, Harry,” Draco said softly, stroking his cheek with the pad of his thumb. “It wasn't your fault.”</p><p>Harry closed his eyes and leaned into the touch with a sigh, bringing his free hand up to cover Draco's. Then he turned his face and planted a light kiss on Draco’s palm before looking at Draco from under his eyelashes.</p><p>And as brilliant green eyes met his, Draco smiled, “c'mon, Harry, time to go.”</p><p>**</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>A marauder will make an appearance in the next chapter. Who do you think it will be, Remus or Sirius?<br/>Stay tuned, and I hope you survive this sucky year!</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Please leave comments and reviews!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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